


The Call

by poetrythroughprose



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color, Women Being Awesome, i also really love cliffhangers sorry, i don't know how to write stories without feels, sorry there are a lot of feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrythroughprose/pseuds/poetrythroughprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie novelization/AU: When Prince Caspian calls forth the Pevensies, a supervigilante is also summoned from modern-day Earth. Despite her cynicism and self-preservation, the ex-thief must return home by allying with the Narnians, facing a forgotten legend, defeating the Telmarines...and staying alive. In Narnia, the heroes don't just fight the enemy - they battle their own demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The call

**Author's Note:**

> This story acts as a novelization and deeper exploration of the movie "Prince Caspian", an AU in which an extra character is inserted into the plot and influences the events, and a kind of sequel to my previous story called "A Good Thief". Readers don't have to read "A Good Thief" (it's quite long, but if you do, kudos to you!).
> 
> This is what you have to know: Tempestra is the vigilante persona of Julia Keating, an adopted girl who had intense tensions with the parents that raised her. When she was a preteen, she left home to live with her older brother Roger and his friend Damien, both of whom trained her to become a thief like Damien. Through a series of unfortunate events, Julia ran into trouble with a local superhero team and a criminal group called the Elite, and Roger was killed in the process. Ultimately, Julia caused the death of two criminals: Aphrodite and Frostbite. She dabbled in thievery, superheroics, and eventually settled on being a vigilante and following her own agenda and rules. At the beginning of this story, she works on her own and keeps periodic contact with her close friend, Damien.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia book and/or movie series, nor anything related to them.

**Jump City**

**City skyline**

It had taken weeks – _weeks_ – for Tempestra to track down the illusive assassin Cheshire, and now she found herself with the thankless task of chasing the criminal down. Cheshire was renowned for her deadly combat skills and twin-bladed claws worn on each hand, an accomplished murderer-for-hire who made a mockery of the law - all the while flashing a sharp-toothed grin painted on an eerie white mask. Tempestra had followed a string of high-profile murders of corrupt mob bosses across the West Coast, but it was only after the seventh killing did she finally catch up to her.

The two raced across the rooftops of Jump City, flitting in and out of the darkness like shadows. Tempestra was no stranger to the chase - having been in the role of the chased on more than one occasion – but she did not like it. Give her a face-to-face fight any day. Her petite build was not made for running long distances; then again, some would say that her vigilante clothes weren’t meant for fighting crime, but she proved them wrong. Who said skirts, leggings, boots, and v-neck shirts weren’t suitable for a fight? It was the skills that mattered, and with her combat abilities and knack for shooting lightning, Tempestra was well-equipped.

They made an odd pair, the two of them. Cheshire no doubt considered Tempestra her nemesis, and it wasn’t just their evenly-matched skills that proved it. They both happened to be young women on the cusp of leaving their teen years, making them carefree, defiant, and cynical. They shared a common background: Asian-Americans who refused to be categorized in solely one identity, and chose their own courses instead.

Tempestra, at least, had not decided to kill for a living. As she continued her long chase against the background of a darkening summer night that promised to be as warm as it was humid, the vigilante tried not to think about how quickly Cheshire would break out of jail after her arrest. She also tried to ignore the twisting feeling of guilt as she passed a mugging and a minor gang fight.

 _Seven murders_ , the young woman told herself firmly. _Seven murders._ It was the only ones with which she had evidence to pin on Cheshire. Even if the victims were as corrupt and cold-blooded as Cheshire, three of them had children who had been put in harm’s way when Cheshire murdered their fathers in their own homes. Tempestra did not miss the mob bosses – indeed, she thought they were better dead than alive - but she had wanted to bring them down in her own way, in her own time. She wanted the satisfaction of seeing them carted off to jail for life sentences. They had no hope for rehabilitation, and they were better off in jail than in society.

It was ironic that she was trying to catch a killer for killing other killers. Even worse – Tempestra was, by law, not allowed to wreak the same revenge on Cheshire. One kill – even by accident, no matter what the circumstances – was a guarantee for Tempestra herself to be hunted down by the police. When the vigilante did face Cheshire one-on-one, they would not be fighting with equal ferocity. She could only take comfort in the fact that there was no way that the courts would give anything less than a life sentence to Cheshire when she was caught. The assassin’s criminal record was longer than most serial murderers.

Cheshire flung herself off a rooftop without hesitation, and Tempestra quickly followed. She landed solidly in the middle of a pitch-black alleyway, and was forced to unsheathe her two long knives as her quarry turned and leapt at her. Cheshire slashed at Tempestra with her metal claws, nearly missing the top of her victim’s head as she ducked under the singing blades. Springing up again, Tempestra locked her knives with Cheshire’s claws and shoved a boot into her adversary’s torso, throwing the assassin back against the opposite brick wall.

Mask leering, Cheshire flung two short knives and a smoke pellet at the vigilante, then bolted out of the alleyway. By the time Tempestra, coughing, had narrowly dodged the weapons and sprinted to the end of the alleyway, her target had gotten a head start.

“Damn…”

Tempestra had hoped to finally corner Cheshire, but the way that the evening was going, she was fast losing hope. She had pursued the assassin for over twenty minutes, and Cheshire outmaneuvered her at every turn. Even her lightning abilities were useless, since her opponent always managed to evade each bolt with maddening ease, and she didn’t dare use too much power for fear that she could accidentally kill her. It was entirely possible that one blast of lightning could knock the assassin off a roof and to her death, or against some hard concrete and crack her skull.

The girl paused, panting, to scan her surroundings.

There.

Seeing the familiar flicker of pale green cloth, Tempestra veered right and ran across the empty, ill-lit street towards anther alleyway. A lamppost flickered feebly as she ran underneath it. As she neared the entrance to the alley, Tempestra thought she distantly heard the sound of a trumpet.

Ignoring it, the young woman darted into the alleyway, though she could not shake off the increasing feeling that something was propelling her forward. As she ran on, so far in that no light could penetrate the darkness, the feeling intensified into a pull. It was like something invisible had hooked her in against her will and was tugging her onwards.

Soon, that something was pulling her in and Tempestra was no longer running

but when she tried resisting and moving backwards that thing

dragged her in and she couldn’t see what it was

but she realized with horror

that she couldn’t

escape-

 

And then there was light ahead of her.

The tugging feeling disappeared, and Tempestra slowed down to a jog, then a walk, and began moving forward cautiously. The air in the alleyway had gone from the enveloping warmth of a summer night to the crispness of a spring morning. The muted sounds of a sleeping city had been replaced by the sounds of a quiet forest. The young woman could even hear birds chirping among the rustling leaves.

There had to be an illusionist nearby, or a psychic. It was possible that Cheshire was working with other people. She had, after all, teamed up with other criminals on more than one occasion. If she had an illusionist on her side, things were going to go from bad to worse for Tempestra. Physical combat was her advantage, not mental combat.

Tempestra crept forwarded. The sunny light revealed that on either side of her were not the crumbling brick walls of the alleyway, but rough stone walls of some kind of cave. She touched the nearest one, and was surprised to discover that it felt convincingly like coarse rock. What’s more, even the scents of the forest were realistic: faintly sweet flowers, earthy loam, fresh air, green leaves and grass. Tempestra inhaled a lungful and exhaled it silently, frowning. Touch and smell was not usually what illusionists and psychics were able to imitate.

Voices.

“I’m telling you, _somebody_ used Queen Susan’s horn! Did you not feel it in your bones? It was that trembling call that every Narnian knows!”

“I felt it as well. Yet who could have blown it? The horn has been missing ever since the day the kings and queens of old disappeared.”

“Maybe a Narnian found it. Maybe a Telmarine raided a treasure trove. Maybe-”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“Peace, both of you. If someone has indeed blown the horn, then the kings and queens will return. If that is to happen, we must gather our fellow Narnians and be ready to greet them.”

The words slid over Tempestra, who understood none of it. The mention of a horn reminded her of the trumpet-like sound she had briefly heard in front of the alleyway, but the other words were meaningless to her. Whoever was manipulating her mind must have created imaginary voices, because who in reality would talk about magic horns and kings and queens?

She had reached the entrance to the cave. Steeling herself, the vigilante peered around the side to dart a quick glance at her surroundings. What she saw made her breath catch. Some ten feet to her left were three…creatures. One was a dark-skinned, wild-looking man from the waist up and horse from the waist down – a centaur, according to Greek mythology. One was a short man with a bare chest and hairy goat legs – a faun. The last was a squirrel. None wore any clothes, though the centaur and faun were both armed with medieval-looking swords.

All three had spoken, _including the squirrel_.

Retreating a few feet back into the relative shelter of the cave, Tempestra leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths to steady her leaping heart. It was increasingly becoming obvious that her mind was not being manipulated. Even if she was unconscious and hallucinating,  a mind alone could not imitate sound, smell, and touch so accurately.

What if this wasn’t the product of an illusionist? What is Tempestra wasn’t in that alleyway, or even Jump City, anymore?

“Wait wait wait. I smell something.” It was the high-pitched, nervous voice that obviously came from smaller lungs: the squirrel.

“What is it?” The hushed voice was deep and resonating, from the centaur.

“Human. Close by.”

“Telmarine?” That was the last voice, from the faun.

“No no no, human but not Telmarine.”

“Where?”

“That way.”

There was the muffled sound of plodding hooves on grass, and Tempestra pressed herself closer against the wall, holding her breath. They were coming closer, those three creatures – and from the sound of it, they did not seem to hold humans in the highest esteem. In fact, they sounded fairly hostile towards humans.

 _Ah, shit_. She was definitely going to have to fight them. The vigilante gripped the hilts of her knives and summoned her inner powers, causing lightning to bloom over her hands and writhe over her metal weapons. If those creatures were about to attack her, they would get more than they bargained for.

The faun was the first to dart inside the cave, but he wasn’t used to the darkness.

Tempestra was. As the creature, squinting, chopped down with its sword, the young woman trapped the weapon between her crossed knives and used her boot to shove him backwards against the wall, where he hit his head against the stone.

The centaur was on her in a heartbeat. He swung his broadsword in an arc – Tempestra felt a stab of fear - but the vigilante leapt backwards and used one knife to parry the large weapon away from her. The other she pointed at her opponent. A thick bolt of electricity jumped from the tip of the knife and onto the centaur’s torso, eliciting a bellow of pain and surprise from him. When the creature stumbled back a few steps, Tempestra turned to lock weapons once more with the faun, eyes glittering and small bolts of lightning flying from the clashing blades.

This time, the faun drew her out into the light by slashing and retreating. Tempestra was busy fighting, but a corner of her mind noticed that she was surrounded by gigantic trees in a forest, with dappled sunlight falling onto springy green grass. When her opponent sliced at her in a crescent motion, the young woman moved to parry the attack. The faun feinted, then knocked one of her knives away and caught her in the ribs with one unexpectedly powerful and solid hoof, throwing her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her. Before she could get to her feet, the faun lifted its sword and Tempestra breathlessly raised her own knife to protect herself, knowing that it would be useless-

“Stop.”

The faun froze at the centaur’s command. He and Tempestra turned to look at the tall creature, who was walking over. Surprisingly, his sword hung limp by his side. The squirrel, too, approached, nervously darting forward, hesitating, then scurrying forward again.

“Glenstorm-”

The faun’s protest was silenced as the centaur – Glenstorm  - raised its hand. The creature was surveying Tempestra solemnly. He had a strong face, with a broad mouth, deep-set eyes, and a large nose. He looked proud and noble. Judging that she was no longer in a fatal situation, Tempestra got to her feet, holding her knives at the ready.

“Daughter of Eve, by what name are you hailed?”

Bewildered by the sudden change in attitude, Tempestra leveled a cool look up at the centaur, who was at least two feet taller than she.

“I’m Tempestra,” she replied cautiously. “What does Eve have to do with-”

The centaur shook his head.

“You misunderstand. I call you a human – sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.” When Tempestra just stared at him, he continued, “Forgive us. We were taken off guard by your appearance. We have not seen humans-” there was a definite note of disgust in his voice “-for some time. Especially not a daughter of Eve – a woman.”

They did not seem to still be in the mood to attack her, so Tempestra relaxed slightly. She was starting to overcome the fact that there was a talking centaur, faun, and squirrel, and that she was somehow in a completely different place than she had started in. As long as they didn’t seem eager to hurt her, however, it seemed reasonable to show some courtesy and friendliness to get on their good sides.

“I’m…lost,” she said finally. “I was cashing someone into an alley, but I came out here.” She indicated the cave behind her. “Where is here?”

The faun lowered his sword slowly.

“Narnia,” he replied curtly, then looked at the centaur Glenstorm. “Why are we letting her live? If she’s a Telmarine-”

“She isn’t a Telmarine.” The squirrel spoke up in front of her for the first time. He sniffed the air, then nodded decisively. “Not a Telmarine smell. Different, like something sweet. A flower?”

“Look.” The three creatures looked at Tempestra. “I don’t even know what a Telmarine is, or Narnia, or how the hell I’m talking to two mythological creatures and a talking _squirrel_.”

“You are not of this place,” Glenstorm noted.

“Of course not!” the faun exclaimed. He shot a look of exasperation at the centaur. “She isn’t Narnian, she’s human! What if she’s a spy?”

“I do not believe so.” The centaur was looking almost gravely – almost reverently – at Tempestra again, which was starting to make her uneasy. He looked like he knew something that she didn’t. “Do you not recognize her, faun?”

The faun looked cluelessly at the young woman for a moment, then shook his head. The centaur sheathed his sword, then bowed his head.

“She is the Lady Lightning of old.”


	2. Lady Lightning

_What the hell was a Lady Lightning?_

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Tempestra said dryly. “I can use lightning, and I’m a lady, but that’s where the comparison ends. I’ve never been called Lady Lightning.”

“But you are.” Glenstorm nodded confidently, and Tempestra felt her sense of unease rising. “I recognize your renowned weapons and gift of light. You have the same appearance of the legendary lady warrior from over a thousand years past: the raven hair, the garments of another world…”

Tempestra felt like laughing, but she was too shaken to. This centaur – a creature that by all rights should not have existed – was trying to tell her that she was some kind of legend from an ancient time, in a place that she still knew nothing about.

“Just – stop.” She held up her hands – still grasping her weapons - to hold off their claims. “I’m not who you think I am. I don’t even know _where_ I am.” This was too much. First, she came through an alleyway and found herself transported to a completely different location, then she discovered that she was surrounded by fantasy creatures, then she was told that she had been here before…it was all too Alice in Wonderland. This was not real life. Real life made sense; this did not.

“The legends _did_ say that she was from another world,” the faun murmured thoughtfully, stroking his short beard. Tempestra tried to avoid looking at the place where his human and animal parts met. “But how did she-?”

“The horn!” the squirrel exclaimed excitedly, standing up on its two legs. “Queen Susan’s horn summoned her!”

“Who?”

For the first time, Glenstorm frowned.

“Do you not recall Queen Susan or her legendary horn?”

Tempestra looked at him, deadpan.

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about or why I’m here. I was just chasing someone, and came out here instead.” She gestured, frustrated, back at the cave. The three creatures glanced at each other dubiously.

“That’s just a normal cave,” the faun shrugged. “We’ve been in it before. There’s nothing in there but the back of the cave.”

Unconvinced, Tempestra strode back into the cave and gave it a thorough inspection as the three creatures conversed with each other earnestly. As the faun had said, there was nothing special about the cave. There were no hidden doors, or evidence of magic or a portal. Yet it had to be some kind of portal that had brought her there. They were not unheard of; there was more than one person on Earth who had the power to travel from world to world.

And this was certainly not her world. This place, Narnia, could not exist on Earth. And judging from the weapons that these creatures used, it could not exist in the same time. Their weapons looked medieval, and they had no other evidence of modern developments. If this was the case, then she was in more trouble than she had previously thought. Cheshire must have worked with someone to lure her into a trap and strand her here. _Wherever here is_. _Whenever here is._

The centaur was talking to her again.

“Queen Susan was one of the kings and queens of old,” he explained to her. “High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant.” _Sounds like a fun group_ , Tempestra thought sarcastically, half listening to the lecture. “After battling the White Witch after the Hundred Years of Winter, the kings and queens ruled Narnia during the Golden Age.”

“Before they disappeared one day,” the faun added bitterly. “Them _and_ Aslan.”

“Aslan is the Great Lion who saved us all,” Glenstorm continued, unheeded. “He was there when the deep magicks of Narnia were written, and he has powers unimaginable to us.”

Tempestra gave up inspecting the cave. Clearly, there was nothing there that could help her go back to Earth. She walked back outside, mentally going over her options, when the centaur’s words caught up to her.

“Magic?” she repeated. She turned to the centaur. “If he’s magic, can he bring me back home?”

The centaur, faun, and squirrel looked at each other.

“He is capable of many great things,” Glenstorm finally replied.

“Weren’t you listening?” the faun demanded, throwing up his hands. _No_ , Tempestra thought, but didn’t say it aloud. “Aslan deserted us when the kings and queens did! He hasn’t come back! He didn’t even come back when the Telmarines invaded and killed us, took over our land, destroyed our homes-”

“Peace, Flynn,” Glenstorm interrupted. “Queen Susan’s horn has finally sounded.” To Tempestra, he said, “It is said to be able to summon the kings and queens. They are coming.”

“They can help us,” the squirrel added, “against the Telmarines.”

Tempestra’s mind worked quickly. If this was all real and not a hallucination – and it seemed too real to be a hallucination – then she had to find a way to get home. There were few people on Earth who was able to find her, and they had no way of knowing that she was in trouble or where she was. Even if they did notice that she had disappeared, it would not be for weeks or even months. She was on her own. _As usual_.

“If I help all of you Narnians to find the kings and queens,” the young woman said carefully, “will Aslan return and help me get back home?”

Glenstorm scrutinized her for a moment. Tempestra, who normally was adept at reading people’s emotions, could not fathom the thoughts behind his dark eyes. For all that he spoke of old legendary kings and queens, there was something just as ancient about the centaur. He spoke with the authority of a leader and the wisdom of a sage, as if he knew the past, present, and future. His nobility and honor was an outdated concept on Earth, but here in this impossible world, Tempestra could see that it made him a natural leader. The faun and the centaur clearly looked up to him.

“It is possible,” Glenstorm replied at last. At this, the young woman nodded grimly and sheathed her weapons. After a moment, something occurred to her.

“If these rulers are ancient legends, how old would they be now, exactly?”

* * *

 

Within the hour, the motley group of four had journeyed to meet other so-called “Narnians”, which included a herd of centaurs and a group of fauns. Tempestra struggled not to show her surprise at the strange group, and her confusion at the reverence with which the Narnians looked at her. They _all_ thought she was this person called Lady Lightning, and from the way that they spoke to her, it was clear that they respected the legendary figure. They even took to calling her ‘my lady’. They were disappointed that she vehemently denied that she was the ancient figure, but they did not attempt to persuade her. It all seemed surreal to the young woman, who pursed her lips, listened, and nodded to them, but said little. She prided herself on being adaptable, but this – this was something else entirely. She was out of her element. The most advanced technology that they had here was the wheel. Her lightning abilities, her ethnicity and gender, her clothes, her cynicism and sarcasm – they did not belong in this world of kings and queens, kingdoms, honor, nobility, swords, and battles.

The less time that she was here, the better.

The large group soon left the temporary camp in order to search for more Narnians and the kings and queens of old. Apparently, Telmarine attacks from over a thousand years ago had forced the Narnians to go into hiding. They lived sparsely over the land, in small groups that were only now rising in population. But animals which could once speak could not be taught again to speak, and according to their stories, the trees used to come alive. They were motionless and dead now.

The journeys across the land were long and boring, and some of the Narnians, including Glenstorm and Flynn the faun, took it upon themselves to relate Narnian history to Tempestra. They spoke nostalgically of the Golden Age, in which the kings and queens had reigned for fifteen years of peace and prosperity. To Tempestra, it seemed like a fairy tale or a dream. Their stories soon became bitter, however, as they recounted the years after the Golden Age, when the Telmarines had invaded Narnia, taken over the land, and committed mass genocide. Clearly, even a medieval fantasy land was not without its dark ages.

Taking queue from Glenstorm, who seemed to be the leader, the Narnians did not speak much of the Lady Lightning. Only when Tempestra asked him directly did the centaur relate to her the background of the legend.

“She was a warrior as skilled as the kings and queens,” he told her simply. “As their Majesties were, she was a woman from another world. But she appeared in Narnia after the Battle of Beruna against the White Witch in the year 1000.”

The White Witch, some of the Narnians had explained vehemently, had been a cruel tyrant. She had ruled Narnia for over a hundred years in a state of total winter before the kings and queens of old had come and defeated her with Aslan’s help. “The Lady Lightning,” Glenstorm went on, “had come to warn the kings and queens of a rebellion by the remnants of the forces of the White Witch. She and the High King led a great battle against the rebellion, then went on to destroy the castle of the Witch and all those left of the army, five years later. Those who did not perish, dissolved their forces and ended the war.

“During these years, the Lady Lightning became a loyal companion and advisor to the High King. Our records do not show how close they became, only that she stood by the side of the High King for many a time before he, and the other king and queens, disappeared.”

“It makes sense that she would be an advisor,” Tempestra mused. “Advisors are usually close to rulers.” That, at least, sounded a little more like her. She wasn’t cut out to be a queen, but a shadowy advisor with a heavy influence over rulers? That was more her style. _But that wasn’t me_ , the young woman reminded herself. _They’ve got the wrong person_.

“Perhaps,” Glenstorm replied, but before Tempestra could ask what he meant by his vague ‘perhaps’, the centaur had turned away and preoccupied himself with something else.

* * *

 

Days passed, then a week since Tempestra had arrived in Narnia, and she began to finally accept that she would have to remain there in the long term. Their group of Narnians grew and came to include dwarves (black and white), minotaurs, cheetahs, tigers, and other talking animals. As their numbers swelled, Tempestra found that their reactions towards her varied considerably. Despite the warm welcome that she had encountered in the beginning, there were Narnians who were suspicious or wary of her. Almost none of them had ever seen a human, and those who had seen humans had only encountered Telmarine soldiers, who left an unpleasant impression upon them. Tempestra did not attempt to gain their trust or support; after all, she did not expect to remain there for very long.

The young woman did, however, receive a set of human clothes from a centaur; he had come across an abandoned hut on the edge of the Great Woods, which the Telmarines believed to be haunted. Most of the belongings in the hut – which looked like it had been hastily abandoned – were gone, but some things had been left behind, including a set of male Telmarine clothes. There was a loose white cotton shirt and a pair of faded brown breeches, which Tempestra opted to wear since they were more suitable to forests than her own outfit. However, she had to use her signature belt (black leather with a silver buckle and violet lightning bolt engraving) to keep the large pants up around her waist. She kept her own boots and weapons, and took to braiding her hair back.

* * *

 

Glenstorm, Flynn the faun, and a cheetah named Ferrah were the only Narnians that Tempestra communicated with on a daily basis. Ferrah was the group’s most dependable scout, and a valuable asset as the group became larger and traveled more slowly. After Glenstorm had discovered that Tempestra and the cheetah worked well with each other, he sent them out on scouting missions together. Ferrah had keen animal senses and stealth, and Tempestra had raw power and a sharper mind for making quick tactical decisions. After she proved her cleverness and combat skills, the cheetah came to trust her. They never met any obstacles, except on one occasion.

It was a regular scouting mission. Glenstorm knew of a small group of Narnians – two dwarves and a badger – who lived nearby, and he asked Ferrah and Tempestra to search for them and invite them to join the group. It was midday and already warm, though the forest was strangely silent. The dense tree foliage allowed scant light through the forest floor, which gave off a damp odor. They were picking their way among thick tree roots, looking for a hidden hut, when Ferrah suddenly froze, sniffing the air. Seeing this, Tempestra halted as well, turning her head to survey their surroundings for anything suspicious.

“What is it?” she whispered, slowly unsheathing her knives.

Ferrah looked from side to side.

“It’s-”

Before he could finish, there was a tight whistle, and an arrow embedded itself into the ground next to the cheetah. Ferrah and Tempestra looked up to see seven dark-haired men dressed in helmets and chain mail, all armed with crossbows and swords. They were twenty feet away.

“Telmarines,” Ferrah explained. With a guttural growl, he bounded forward and launched himself at the nearest soldier, who gave a cry and fell backwards, shooting his crossbow wildly into the air. In a second, Ferrah had slashed the man’s throat, dodged another arrow, and leapt at another soldier.

Meanwhile, Tempestra faced the other five soldiers. They glanced at each other, hesitant and unsure how to react to a young woman ready for combat. Tempestra solved their indecision by preemptively hurling one of her knives at the closest soldier, who fell backwards with a cry, the weapon protruding from his shoulder. The others quickly got over their uncertainty. One of them raised his crossbow, aimed it at the young woman, and fired off an arrow. Tempestra shot a bolt of lightning from the tip of her other knife, destroying the arrow in a clash of sparks, splintered wood, and slivers of metal. No sooner had the pieces fallen to the ground did she shoot another bolt at the offending soldier, and the man fell backwards, unconscious.

This was not what the Telmarines were prepared for. Shaken but determined, the last three ran forward, swords raised. The closest one chopped down at Tempestra, who dodged the attack. His momentum caused his sword to thud into the ground, and the young woman knocked him unconscious with a blow from the hard end of her dagger to his head. The next soldier swung wildly at her, and she parried the blow with one knife, before stabbing her opponent through a gap in the chain mail on his shoulder. When the soldier fell to his knees, howling in pain, Tempestra blasted him backwards with a bolt of lightning. The last soldier wavered, lost his nerve, then turned and ran.

He didn’t make it far.

In a moment Ferrah brought him down. When the cheetah was finished, he turned to look at Tempestra, who had retrieved her first knife and was wiping her weapons clean on the grass.

“Why did you not kill the other two?” The cheetah was curious, almost surprised.

The vigilante shrugged.

“I don’t kill,” she remarked casually, looking around at the unconscious soldiers. They looked Mediterranean, with swarthy skin and dark hair.

Ferrah shook his head in a human-like way.

“In these times, you must,” he advised, then added, “Those two will report back to Miraz.”

Tempestra sheathed her knives and began to gather up the unconscious Telmarines’ own weapons.

“Then let them,” she replied firmly. “They were obviously here because of Glenstorm’s friends.” She indicated a nearby tree. Beneath the broad network of roots was a small half-opened door, which revealed an empty home. “I don’t know if they were captured or if they ran, but the Telmarines knew about them and were suspicious enough to check if there were more Narnians around here.”

Ferrah sniffed around the entrance to the hut, then looked back at the young woman.

“There’s barely a scent,” he remarked reluctantly. “The wolves will track it more easily. Either they didn’t want to be found, or-”

“-or they were taken against their will and weren’t traveling on foot as they would have voluntarily,” Tempestra finished. “Either way, Glenstorm should know. And-” she indicated the swords, crossbows, and arrows she’d collected “-all of you could do with some extra weapons.”


	3. The battle cry

**Miraz's Castle**

**Professor Cornelius’ Study**

It was not a good day for Miraz. Cornelius knew that the Lord Protector was often in a bad mood, but today he seemed to be angrier than usual. And it wasn’t just because Prince Caspian had escaped. At the moment, though, Miraz’s anger was hidden behind a controlled visage as he sat down on Cornelius’ own chair, putting his feet up on the tutor’s desk where a red arrow quivered in the middle of an ancient painting of four young men and women riding on horses.

“What do you know of Queen Susan’s horn?”

The Lord Protector had never asked before of the old Narnian history. If what he said was indeed true and that famous arrow had been found in one of his soldiers, and he had begun to take interest in the forbidden history…then perhaps Caspian had done the right thing. Perhaps he had summoned the very people who could help him take back the kingdom.

Cornelius lowered his glasses to look at the arrow, his face carefully blank.

“It was said to be magic,” he said finally, replacing his glasses.

Miraz raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“Magic?”

“The Narnians believed that it could summon their dead kings and queens of old. At least, such was the superstition.” The tutor attempted to make it sound like a fairy tale, but he knew the Lord Protector would not be fooled - especially if the fairy tale could be a threat.

Indeed, Miraz got to his feet and walked behind Cornelius, barely contained fury radiating from him in waves. The professor was reminded of a large cat circling its prey.

“And what does Caspian know of this superstition?”

More than you think, Cornelius thought, though out loud, he politely remarked, “My lord, you forbade me from mentioning the old tales.”

“So I did,” Miraz replied. “Yet I receive another report of a _woman_ who has light magic and can fight like a man. What do you know about _that_?”

The Lady Lightning, Cornelius thought, astonished. She, too, had been summoned by the horn. If she and the kings and queens of old had appeared in Narnia, then perhaps the Narnians had a fighting chance of winning back their kingdom. Caspian would not be without allies.

The tutor looked down, hiding his expression.

“There were stories,” he said slowly, “of a woman called the Lady Lightning. She was a fierce warrior and clever advisor, completely loyal to the high king of old. She was not of this world.”

“Then she had best return to her own,” Miraz sneered. “Meanwhile…”

At the sound of heavy footsteps, Cornelius turned to see Miraz’s ally - General Glozelle - and two of his soldiers enter the study. He had always known that it would come to this, especially after Prince Caspian disappeared, but he couldn’t resist a parting shot at Miraz. Turning to the Lord Protector, the tutor looked the man in the eye.

“I will say this: if Caspian does know of the deep magic, my lord would have good vision to be nervous.”

* * *

 

**Great Woods**

**Narnian Camp**

“Block! Parry! Protect your side!”

Tempestra leapt backwards as Glenstorm’s broadsword cleaved the air and struck her own upraised blade, a borrowed longsword that felt heavy in her hands. There was no respite, however; a second later and the centaur’s sword swung towards her left side, which she had a habit of leaving exposed. The vigilante parried the attack, then followed through to lunge at the centaur’s torso. However, he deflected the swing and made to thrust his own sword at Tempestra’s right shoulder.

The two allies had made it a habit to practice swordsmanship whenever possible. Tempestra had some basic knowledge of fighting with swords and other old-fashioned weapons, but it wasn’t enough for a full-out battle. Yes, she could get away with using her twin knives and lightning, but in a fight bigger than a small skirmish against one or two opponents, the vigilante was at a disadvantage. Glenstorm had noticed this and taken it upon himself to give a crash course in sword fighting to the young woman, who knew she would have to use a standard sword.

Julia’s skill was steadily improving; already, after two weeks, she was able to fend off Glenstorm, one of the best fighters of the group, for ten minutes before he disarmed her. He also had her building up her forearm muscles by doing practice cuts in the air over and over again whenever she had time. After that, she practiced cuts from different angles, repeating them over and over again until her body had memorized the movement. Glenstorm had no time to teach her more than the basics of sword fighting, but he drilled her in the basics until she mastered them.

 The girl almost wished that she had more time before the inevitable fight, so that she’d have more time to practice and improve. The practices had a double effect of showing the Narnians, some of whom sometimes stopped by to watch the two spar, that Julia was in no way shirking hard work and the opportunity to learn. She wasn’t as good as the legends made her out to be – to the disappointment of some – but she was on her way.

An hour and many bruises later, Glenstorm finally announced that the practice was over, and the few Narnians who had been awake and watching turned away, discussing the training. Tempestra wiped the sweat from her forehead – it was early morning but she was already sweating heavily – then looked up at Glenstorm.

“I guess I’m lucky I’ll never have to fight _you_ ,” she commented wryly. “I’d never win.”

The centaur sheathed his broadsword with one smooth movement and looked down at the girl.

“You have neither the strength nor experience,” he pointed out fairly. “But if you were to use your magic, the fight would undoubtedly be different.”

Tempestra rested her sword on another rock for its owner to find, then began her post-workout stretch.

“The fight would be a lot different if we were fighting unarmed,” she added, swiveling her joints. When she clasped her hands in front then easily rotated her arms behind her back, Glenstorm stared. The young woman noticed his astonishment. “I’m double-jointed,” she explained with a laugh, relaxing her arms again. “It allows for some…unique skills. Among others.”

“How useful are those skills if you can’t use a sword?” The two of them looked around to see Flynn the faun watching from a few feet away, his face set in a stubborn expression. He had been watching their practice and listening to their conversation. “That is-” he continued, at Tempestra’s eyebrow raise “-battles are only won with weapons. No one will be unarmed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Tempestra replied coolly. The Narnians who had been watching their practice were now listening, and she could practically sense their doubt. This was it; Flynn was voicing their collective skepticism about her ability to hold her own in a fight. It seemed a display of her talents was in order. Tempestra glanced at Glenstorm, who nodded.

The young woman beckoned Flynn over, and the faun approached warily. She handed him her practice sword, then took a few steps back. Turning to the crowd of Narnians, which was growing larger as more woke up and wandered over, she showed them her silver armguards.

“These are my only weapons,” Tempestra declared, indicating that she did not have her knives or her sword. “All of you know about my lightning abilities, and you know that I’m learning to fight with a sword, but what you don’t know is that my first and best skill is hand-to-hand combat.”

She turned to Flynn, who was watching her guardedly.

“Attack me,” she ordered, her gaze sharp. “Don’t hold back.”

Flynn paused for a brief moment, then lunged at her with a yell.

Tempestra feinted to the side. Taking advantage of Flynn’s momentum, her arm shot out and caught him under the chin. The faun landed heavily on his back, then scrambled back to his feet, clutching his sword tightly with both hands. The young woman took a few steps back, letting him recover from his disorientation. That casual move alone would incense him.

She was right. Flynn came at her again, raising the sword to chop at her skull. Before he could bring his weapon down, however, Tempestra curled her fingers and used the heel of her palm to strike upwards at his chin. The faun’s head snapped back, and the young woman followed it up quickly with another palm strike to his diaphragm. Flynn dropped his sword and fell to his knees, the wind knocked out of him.

Tempestra waited, her hands clenched in loose fists. She didn’t know faun anatomy enough to judge where his kidney was, but she would have targeted that otherwise. It would have been a lot more painful than merely getting the wind knocked out. There was a still moment as everyone waited with bated breath for Flynn to recover. When he did, it was faster than Tempestra expected.

Grabbing the sword from the ground, the faun thrust it at the young woman’s torso. It was a strike that was meant to drive through her stomach and kill her painfully. Tempestra dodged neatly out of the way, grabbed Flynn’s sword wrist, then twisted it to the side. He dropped it with a strangled yell, which was cut off immediately as the young woman whipped her other arm around his, and halted the blade of her hand against his throat. Had she decided not to stop, she could have crushed his windpipe and killed him.

There was a tense heartbeat as everyone froze. Tempestra’s eyes were dangerously dark as they stared challengingly at the faun. For one moment, they remained motionless. Then Flynn stepped away and bowed low to the young woman; when he looked up again at her, it was with a newfound respect. As the tense atmosphere deflated, the Narnian crowd began to applaud, and Tempestra relaxed once more.

“You didn’t use your magic,” Flynn remarked, puzzled, as she picked up the sword and offered it to him. “You could have used it.”

Tempestra just smiled.

“I don’t know what the legends told you,” she replied, amused, “but I don’t use my lightning for everything; it’s second to my combat skills. I’ve been learning hand-to-hand combat much longer.”

“Then you must have had a skilled teacher.” Glenstorm approached as the mass of Narnians began to disperse. As the centaur joined them and took the proffered sword, Tempestra smiled dryly.

“I trained with more than a few people,” she admitted. “But I never learned how to use swords much. My, ah, principal teacher didn’t see much use for it.”

Thinking about her “principal teacher”, Damien, reminded her why she was there. She’d been so busy scouting and training with the Narnians, she’d almost forgotten her real goal: to do whatever it took to find Aslan and ask him to return her to Earth. But what did this even entail? What would she have to do, exactly, to finally get home? Find the ancient kings and queens? Travel with them? Fight with them? Go to war?

A firm hand rested on the girl’s shoulder, and she looked up. Glenstorm was looking solemnly at her.

“Aslan will soon return you to your world,” he told her, as if reading her thoughts. “Do not despair.” When Tempestra gave him a small, grateful smile, the centaur turned the practice sword over and hefted it. It looked small in his hands, especially compared to his broadsword, which was almost as big as the young woman was. “This weapon is not fitting for you,” he mused, looking it over. “But perhaps another will do.”

* * *

 

By day, the parade of Narnians trooped through the Great Woods, as they were called, in search of recruiting more Narnians. By night, they camped in the forest and posted sentries to stand watch. The best cooks in the group were responsible for making dinner, and soon everyone would be gathered around fires to eat – centaurs, fauns, dwarfs, cheetahs, badgers, and other talking animals. This was Tempestra’s favorite part of the day: after the meal but before sleeping, when everyone was full and satisfied but still chatty. It was then that the Narnians told stories. They usually recounted legends about the Golden Age and the kings and queens. The badgers, who were famous for safeguarding history and stories, would narrate grand battles, glorious victories, and thrilling adventures. They spoke of honorable knights, noble kings and queens, and valiant Narnians. They used their words to illustrate the splendid castle of Cair Paravel, gracefully dancing trees, and the gorgeous royal court. They told of the Long Winter under the White Witch, the Winter Revolution and Aslan’s rebirth, and the fifteen golden years. They rarely spoke of the Conquest of Narnia, though when they did, it was with bitterness and hate.

During one night, they were discussing famous battles: the Battle of the Beruna, the Battle of the White Castle, the Battle of Anvard, the Battle of Gold and Silver, and the Siege of Cair Paravel. Eventually, Tempestra asked Glenstorm to recount how his family survived the Telmarine invasion. He clearly did not wish to speak of it, but Tempestra had asked politely. Though a moment of silence passed around the group of Narnians huddled around the fire, the young woman did not take her eyes off the centaur. She would not take back what she had said.

A deep crease appeared between the leader’s brows.

“It was one of the last fierce battles against the Telmarines,” Glenstorm began slowly. “The invaders had created a new weapon, able to fire many arrows from a large wooden machine.” Tempestra fleetingly imagined a kind of medieval wooden machine gun that spewed arrows instead of bullets. “My ancestors took flight during the battle. They lacked the honor to properly fight the enemy.”  The centaur bowed his head. “They were _cowards_.”

Tempestra could see how Glenstorm would think that his ancestors were cowardly for running from battle – certainly she knew far too many heroes who would have shared Glenstorm’s opinion – but as a former thief, she understood his ancestors’ motivations. Upstanding morals hardly had a place in real life.

“Maybe they weren’t really cowards,” the young woman suggested, staring at the fire. “Maybe they were wise.” When Glenstorm looked at her sideways, she continued, “Look - honor and nobleness and all of that happy idealism can’t always hold up in real life – not in helplessly dangerous situations like that battle. They only work in idyllic situations and fiction.” She shrugged, her eyes still on the flames. “On Earth, we have this saying: live to fight another day. And that day is _now_. Because your ancestors ran, now _you_ have a chance to destroy the Telmarines and take back Narnia.”

Glenstorm went silent once more, though this time his face was more pensive than doubtful. The other Narnians too had gone quiet, though the atmosphere became more comfortable. For a moment, no one said anything, until Flynn spoke up. Ever since the duel with Tempestra, he had become one of her closest allies in the group.

“Surely you must have grand battles where you come from,” the faun remarked, from his position across the circle. “There are heroes there, right?”

Tempestra smiled wryly.

“We don’t have battles in the same way you do,” she pointed out. “And we have very different technology. It’s a different way of war; asymmetric warfare is more common now.” When the Narnians just stared at her uncomprehendingly, she added, “But battles in our fantasy stories are the same as in Narnia.”

“Such as…?”

She sighed.

“There’s a book written by an English author; it takes place in a fantasy land, kind of like Narnia. There was a small army, probably outnumbered eight to one, and everyone knew that they were going to die. So the leader of the army gave a rousing speech about facing death and fighting for the end of the world. So all the soldiers charged forward, even though they knew they couldn’t win.”

The young woman inwardly smiled at the fascinated looks in the Narnians’ eyes. They were no stranger to bad odds, but fighting for the end of the world was probably a goal they hadn’t thought of fighting for. Here, they fought for Narnia and Aslan.

“The battle cry?” Glenstorm asked quietly.

Tempestra gave a small smile.

“Death. They shouted ‘death’ over and over again, and they charged their enemy. And that was the most courageous part of it. They weren’t afraid of death. They _welcomed_ it.” She paused, remembering the point of her speech. “But like I said, that’s just a story. Yelling ‘death’ never won any battles.”

Glenstorm nodded solemnly.

“Yes. But would I too have warriors of that courage. After fear of death, there is nothing to stand in the way of a warrior.”

The centaur’s reply made sense, but he seemed to miss her point. Tempestra opened her mouth to continue debating it, but gave up and closed her mouth as she realized that it was useless. Soldiers could not be completely realistic and pessimistic; they had to have some ideals. They just needed a balance of both. Courage could get warriors far, but bad odds could easily destroy them. Tempestra had never fought in a conflict with such overwhelmingly bad odds, and she wasn’t planning to. She was realistic; she picked her battles well.

* * *

 

The next morning, Glenstorm and a few other leaders of the Narnian group, including Tempestra, were gathered in a circle in deep discussion. Shortly after the sparring practice, an unfamiliar faun and minotaur had come to the camp, claiming to be from another group of hidden Narnians. Within minutes of meeting Glenstorm, the two Narnians were meeting with the leaders of the camp, relating their information as precisely as possible.

“And you say that your numbers are greater than ours?” That was Flynn, perched on top of a boulder.

The unfamiliar faun nodded.

“More than twice your number,” he explained. “We sent out scouts to look for more Narnians after the horn was heard.”

“And here we are,” the minotaur finished, gesturing to the large camp. “We must join forces.”

“So we shall.” Glenstorm had remained standing as he surveyed the two scouts. “You say that you have a base.”

The faun, who seemed to be the more talkative of the two, nodded eagerly.

“Aslan’s How.”

A murmur of surprise rippled among the leaders of the camp, except for Tempestra, who was silent. She, like Glenstorm, was standing, though she was leaning against a tree a little farther from the rest of the group. However, she could hear just as well, though she preferred to stay out of notice.

“You have over four hundred in the How?” Another centaur asked, amazed. “Impossible.”

“We have dug tunnels underground,” the faun explained, smiling proudly. “Extended the networks, made room for the Narnians who have come from all around. More come every day.”

“Then we shall go as well,” Glenstorm decided. “It is a strong base, and a revered place.”

“But who is this?”

Everyone turned to look at the minotaur scout, who had finally noticed Tempestra and was gesturing towards her with his heavy axe. Seeing this, the girl frowned slightly. Straightening, she came forward to stand next to Glenstorm, the obvious leader.

“I’m Tempestra,” the young woman replied coolly. She was used to Narnians looking at her with suspicion – experience with Telmarines had tarnished their view of humans, legend or no – but she still didn’t like it.

“She is the Lady Lightning of old,” Glenstorm explained. “She was summoned by the horn, and has come to fight alongside us all.”

“Hmph.” The minotaur looked away, though the faun looked awed. Clearly, he put more faith in legends than his companion.

“Glenstorm!”

Everyone turned as Ferrah skidded to a halt in front of the group. The cheetah had been scouting as usual, but his return was unusually early.

“Ferrah. Report.”

“There is a fight, General,” the cheetah exclaimed excitedly. “I had but a moment to see, but there were Telmarine soldiers attacking another Telmarine, younger with less armor and weapons. They’re here, in the Great Woods” Another murmur of surprise, mixed with hostility, rippled through the group. “The young Telmarine was with the badger Trufflehunter, and the black dwarf Nikabrik.”

“He has kidnapped them?” Glenstorm demanded.

“No.” Ferrah shook his head. “He is _helping_ them.”

* * *

 

Reepicheep was aghast, to say the least. Trufflehunter, one of his oldest friends, had just defended a Telmarine - of all people - right when he was about to do away with said Telmarine.

“Trufflehunter? I trust you have a very good reason for this untimely interruption.”

A couple of feet away, Nikabrik supported the badger, wearing a sour expression.

“He doesn’t,” the black dwarf stated. “Go ahead.”

Trufflehunter looked at Reepicheep meaningfully. Underneath the mouse, the Telmarine was still looking nervous.

“He’s the one who blew the horn.”

Reepicheep looked astonished.

“What?”

Before Trufflehunter or the Telmarine could explain, there was the sound of plodding hoofsteps, and a deep voice rang over the entire area.

“Then let him bring it forward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just make a Lord of the Rings reference?
> 
> (Maybe.)


	4. Prince Caspian

**Great Woods**

**Near the Dancing Lawn**

Glenstorm, followed closely by his three sons, led the Narnian group over the small rise in the earth. Tempestra stood to the side of the centaurs, closely studying the scene. Her eyes roamed over the badger, black dwarf, sword-wielding mouse, and anxious-looking young man splayed on the ground. She did not miss the elegant sword lying by his head, or the white ivory horn tied to his belt. The end of the horn was carved into the head of a lion.

“This is the reason we have gathered,” Glenstorm declared. “Who is this horn-caller?” He grimly stared down at the young man, and Tempestra realized with a jolt that he was a Telmarine. He fit the description perfectly – tall, dark-haired, with swarthy skin.

Reluctantly, Reepicheep hopped off the young Telmarine, though he kept his small sword at the ready. The young man – the first human Tempestra had seen in Narnia – got to his feet, dusting his clothes off self-consciously as he gazed up at Glenstorm.

“I am Prince Caspian the Tenth,” the Telmarine announced, his accent vaguely Mediterranean. “I escaped from my uncle, Lord Miraz, just a fortnight ago. I-I used Queen Susan’s horn to call for help.”

The Narnians who had followed Glenstorm began to mutter among themselves. Tempestra narrowed her eyes. She was right, then – the ivory horn that he wore at his hip was the infamous horn that the Narnians claimed could summon the ancient kings and queens. Why a Telmarine – a Telmarine prince, no less – would know about Narnian legends was a surprise in itself. Why he would use the horn, if he knew what it could do, was another mystery.

“We must convene to discuss this matter,” Glenstorm proclaimed, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “Come. We shall call a meeting at the Dancing Lawn.”

The centaur general turned to leave, signaling that the conversation was over. He and the other Narnians divided into groups: some to follow his lead and make their way towards the Dancing Lawn, and others to alert the rest of the camp about the new developments. Tempestra chose to follow Glenstorm. She turned to go, already analyzing the news.

The Narnians had informed her of the Telmarine royalty, though little was known about Prince Caspian besides the fact that he was heir to the throne. His father had died in his sleep years ago, leaving the throne ready for his son as soon as he turned the proper age to rule. His uncle, Lord Miraz, was part of the Telmarine High Council which served as the governing body under the king. If Caspian was running from his uncle, then it seemed that some political developments and shakeups had taken place within the castle.

Tempestra inwardly smiled. Political instability in the enemy camp was always a good thing

She had walked for a mere minute before she heard the sound of Prince Caspian walking quickly to catch up to her. Unlike the Narnians, who moved through the woods quietly and with stealth, the young Telmarine seemed to crash through the undergrowth.

“Excuse me, my lady?”

Stopping, Tempestra turned to get a good look at the prince. Caspian the Tenth was the epitome of a striking young man: tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was wavy, thick, and long, framing a long clean-shaven face with a strong nose, full lips, and a square cleft chin. He could’ve been any Telmarine. But it was his eyes that gave him away. Although they had the look of one startled by recent unexpected events, they held a strong look of pride and stubbornness.

Tempestra adopted a cool demeanor.

“Yes?” She wasn’t exactly sure how to address Caspian, so she decided to drop titles. Caspian didn’t seem bothered by this.

“I noticed that you are the only, well-”

“Human?” Tempestra supplied. Caspian nodded.

“Yes. Yet you are not Telmarine.”

The young woman snorted and resumed her stride. The Narnians had already left them at the back, and those who passed them gave Caspian looks ranging from cold to outwardly hostile.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Caspian, who was easily matching her hurried stride, frowned in confusion, and Tempestra rolled her eyes. She something forgot that her references went over everyone’s heads. “I’m from another world,” she explained curtly. “Earth, where the old kings and queens came from.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Caspian look her up and down, not to check her out but to take in her appearance. After all, if Narnia was around the time period of Earth’s Medieval Age or Renaissance, then women did not walk around so heavily armed or in pants.

“But how did you come to be here?” the prince asked curiously, entirely unfazed by her animosity. “Magic has not been done in over a thousand years.”

Tempestra smiled. It still amused her that the people and creatures in Narnia were so rudimentary that they still used swords and crossbows for weapons, and had no idea what real technology or magic was. It had consistently provided her with a sense of amusement, up until she realized that Narnia lacked important things like toilets, toothbrushes, and deodorant.

“If what everyone says is true, and that horn-” she nodded to the object strapped to his belt “-can summon people from anywhere, then _you_ called me here.” At Caspian’s puzzled expression, she continued, “The Narnians told me that I was close to the old rulers. So you must’ve brought me here with them.”

“But you are not Queen Susan or Queen Lucy,” Caspian clarified. When Tempestra just gave him a patronizing look, he shrugged. He was fiddling distractedly with the ivory horn. “My professor told me stories about Narnia, but he did not tell me about many youths of the royal court.”

“She was not a courtier.”

Startled, Tempestra and Caspian turned at the sound of Glenstorm’s deep voice. The centaur was trotting over from the side. He gave a brief respectful nod to Tempestra – which Caspian observed curiously – then fell into step beside them. “She is the Lady Lightning.”

At this, Caspian turned to gaze, awed, at the young woman.

“The legendary Lady Lightning?” he paused, incredulous. “But you are too young!”

Tempestra raised her eyebrows.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded. Caspian shrugged.

“Well, you’re a girl. Can you fight? Do you know anything? Do you have any experience?”

Tempestra shot the prince a withering look. Glenstorm, who had been around her enough to know that it was the expression that she gave before an argument, smiled wryly in anticipation of the inevitable chastisement.

“Let me ask you something, _Your Highness_ ,” the young woman began, her voice falsely pleasant. “How old are you again? 18? 19?” Caspian did not reply, and she continued, her voice becoming hard, “How many people have you fought, outside of practice? How many of your opponents intended to actually injure or kill you? I expect your practice opponents were lenient towards you because they didn’t want to injure the prince and fall out of royal favor.” When Caspian pursed his lips, silent, she tapped the weapons strapped to her belt and continued, “I used these to fight five of your soldiers the other day, and I won. They were willing to kill me, but I let them live because I wanted to.”

Caspian was looking away now, clearly uncomfortable. Tempestra went on anyway. “As for my intelligence – let me guess what’s going on in your court, and you can tell me if I’m right or wrong. You, Caspian the Tenth, are heir to the throne because your father, Caspian the Ninth, died. Your father’s brother is Lord Miraz, who has been acting as regent and steadily filling the political vacuum that your father left. Now you’ve escaped from your own uncle, who presumably tried to kill you. I bet the reason he hasn’t killed you before now, is because he didn’t have his own heir. But since you’re here now, it looks like he just had a son. Am I right?”

Caspian’s jaw clenched, and the young woman smiled. “So tell me: is age or gender really an indicator of ability?”

Glenstorm was smiling, but Tempestra was watching for the prince’s reaction. He swallowed hard, then met her gaze once more, shaking his head. This time, he looked apologetic.

“You are right,” he admitted evenly, “though you are the first to explain it to me this way.” He swallowed again, then added, “I apologize for any disrespect I have shown. I was wrong.”

Tempestra studied the prince’s expression, searching for insincerity. He did not seem insincere, though it looked as though granting an apology was difficult for him. However, she nodded, accepting it. At least he was humble enough to know when to apologize.

Caspian hesitated.

“The Lady Lightning was said to have the magic of light,” he told her cautiously. “Do _you_?”

The young woman sighed heavily, though inside she was amused. It was surprising how much the people and creatures here were impressed by magic or anything paranormal, especially since there were legends of magic people in the past. Raising one hand, she summoned a thread of lightning to it. In a trice, a thin crackling bolt was jumping between her fingers.

Glenstorm bowed his head again in respect, though Caspian looked downright reverential.

“It’s lightning,” Tempestra explained. Clenching her fist, she pulled the lightning back into her. “And don’t stand on ceremony,” she added dryly. “It doesn’t fit me. Just ‘Tempestra’ is fine.”

“And you may call me ‘Caspian’,” the young Telmarine replied, solemnly. “Though I believe that ‘Tempestra’ is not your true name.”

For the first time, Tempestra was startled by the prince.

“What makes you say that?” she demanded. None of the Narnians had ever doubted it.

Caspian smiled, a hint of humor in his features.

“I may not have magic, but I _am_ a prince,” he told her. “I have learned when to notice such things.”

Tempestra nodded grudgingly.

“I guess so.” She glanced sideways at him. “Though I’d rather not say my real name, if that’s all right with you…Caspian.”

She didn’t really expect the Narnians or Telmarines to meet some villain from Earth and spill her secret, but she wanted to be safe, just in case. After all, if this was all an illusion – though she highly doubted it at the moment – then she could accidentally give away her identity to a malevolent illusionist or mind manipulator.

However, the prince nodded, understanding.

“I respect your wishes, Tempestra. Though I hope that one day, you will have earned my trust enough to tell me your true name.”

Glenstorm, who had been silent for some time, spoke up.

“It is unlikely, Your Highness,” he remarked evenly. When Tempestra and Caspian looked at him, the centaur continued, “Only one has learned of the Lady Lightning’s true name. With luck, we will meet him soon.”

* * *

 

**Great Woods**

**Dancing Lawn**

The meeting that Glenstorm had called, Tempestra thought wryly, was more like a protest. Though the small pocket of land was luxurious, with plush green grass and small waterfalls, the darkening sky had cast a grim shadow on the large group of Narnians gathered on the slopes. They were clustered around the small circular space in the center, where a frightened Caspian stood alone.

So far, the meeting wasn’t going well for the Telmarine prince. Many of the Narnians had been shouting accusations and spiteful insults at the young man, and to top it off, Nikabrik had somehow become the representative of all who opposed Caspian. Clearly, the fact that the prince had tried to help the black dwarf had not made him any more of a friend to the Narnian.

Yet right when it seemed that Caspian’s cause had lost all hope and the Narnians were starting to think about attacking the young man, Reepicheep (despite almost having killed the Telmarine) and Trufflehunter came to the prince’s rescue. They both interjected with good points to support Caspian, who seemed to gain courage from the defense. After that, talk turned from punishing the prince to making him king.

Throughout the debate, Tempestra kept out of the way, silent as she observed everyone. From her perch on one of the small boulders in the back of the group, she could examine each Narnian’s expression and hear everything at the same time. This was, technically, not her fight to fight. Narnia and Telmarine had been in conflict for many years – centuries, even. Tempestra had arrived less than three weeks ago. She had no right to persuade anyone with so little experience and knowledge. However, she could show her allegiance.

So when Glenstorm unsheathed his giant broadsword and pledged that he and his sons would fight on Caspian’s side, Tempestra knew it was time. Glenstorm, with his astral prophecy and sheer power in the group, had tipped the scales in the prince’s favor. One by one, the Narnians vowed to back Caspian. As they lifted their swords, axes, bows, daggers, and spears into the air, Tempestra – still in the back – stood and raised one knife in salute. Caspian, looking around at the demonstrations of support, caught her eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.

To win his throne back, he would need the Lady Lightning on his side.


	5. The Pevensies

**Great Woods**

**Near the Narnian Camp**

In the week after the Narnians joined forces with Prince Caspian, the bulk of the group moved on to travel to Aslan’s How and meet up with the Narnians who were hiding there. The rest of the group – which numbered roughly twenty-five Narnians including Tempestra – continued to rove around the Great Woods looking for the ancient kings and queens, and conducting reconnaissance on the Telmarines. Their small number allowed them to travel faster and lighter. At one point, they even managed to steal enough weapons from the Telmarine army to equip three regiments. Caspian had led that particular raid, leaving a bold ‘X’ under a menacing note for the Telmarines to find. If they did not know who led the rebel army, they did now.

Tempestra was largely left out of the excitement, spending most of her time practicing swordsmanship and scouting ahead with various partners. Although she did not like spending so much time roaming around because there was never anything to report, it did take her mind off of her mission to return home. It had been four weeks since she had appeared in Narnia, and it was beginning to dawn on her how long it would take for her to get back to Earth. She remembered her history lessons about insurgencies; it took years for them to bear fruit. In an effort to shake off that foreboding feeling, she had volunteered to increase her share of scouting missions.

On one particular reconnaissance operation, Tempestra was assigned to work with two Narnians: Asterius (the minotaur from the How), and Pattertwig the squirrel. She had suggested a few days earlier that scouts traveled in trios, and with various strengths; thus, there would always be a heavy-hitter, a swift messenger, and a silent shadow. Tempestra was always the third. She usually didn’t mind scouting with others, but Asterius and Pattertwig were not her ideal partners. Pattertwig was fast but dim-witted, and Tempestra had a strong suspicion that Asterius disliked her. He was one of the few Narnians in their group who had not attempted to talk to her, and he had an annoying habit of insisting that he travel heavily armed, even on scouting missions where lightness and swiftness were crucial.

Tempestra ignored the tense silence as they picked their way around the trees, the minotaur trudging behind her and to her side as Pattertwig scampered along the tree branches on the opposite side. They kept a triangle formation with Tempestra in front, her steps light and quiet on the forest floor. Once in awhile, she winced at Asterius’ loud plodding at her rear; even from ninety feet away, she could hear the crunch of broken branches and rustle of leaves. It was no small wonder that she almost missed the sound of a voice.

It had been fleeting and high-pitched, but she had definitely heard it. Tempestra signaled Asterius to keep going as she doubled back and around, making a wide arc around the minotaur as she investigated the source of the noise. As Asterius continued to trudge on without her, the young woman cautiously hiked around a small dirt ridge upon which a few trees were stubbornly clinging. What she saw on the other side made her stop short.

There was a girl – a human girl.

She was around eight or nine, but clothed like a Narnian, in a dress that fit perfectly with the Narnian world. The red-haired girl was crouched behind a bush, anxiously watching something on the on the other side of the ridge. Tempestra brushed aside her initial questions – Where was she from? Was she Telmarine? – and turned to looked in the direction of the girl’s gaze. For the second time in as many minutes, her heart leapt into her throat.

On the other side of the ridge, a young man – also human – was stealthily approaching Asterius from behind. He was blond and dressed in Narnian clothes, holding a heavy sword in both hands in preparation to attack the minotaur. As quietly as she could, Tempestra crept behind the ridge and towards him, keeping out of his peripheral vision. He might have been human, but for all she knew, he could have been Telmarine. And as long as he was about to attack her ally – however much her ally disliked her – he was the enemy.

Tempestra reached for her weapon. But instead of going for her usual twin knives, she reached to her side for the sword sheathed and belted around her waist. Only a few days before, Glenstorm had equipped her with a more fitting weapon – a one-handed sword. It was shorter and lighter than the longsword that the centaurs and Telmarines favored, but it was broader and easier for the quick movements that Tempestra preferred.

The young woman wanted to have the upper hand when she surprised the young man, but she did not relish the chance of accidentally killing him. Ideally, if she alerted him to her presence right before she struck, he would be able to defend himself in time - if his reflexes were good. She would find out either way.

With one smooth movement, Tempestra unsheathed her sword. So preoccupied was the young man, that he did not even hear her as she padded closer, right hand gripping the sword hilt. When she was close enough that she could reach him, she swept her sword from underneath her opponent’s weapon, shoving it out of the way in an attempt to distract him.

He didn’t disappoint.

The blond youth, startled, turned but managed to hold on to his sword. Before he could retaliate, Tempestra swung her weapon around, the edge diving for the boy’s right arm – his sword arm. He blocked the slice easily and shoved her weapon aside before darting in and swinging the hilt of his sword towards her head. The young woman ducked. Moving in close to her opponent so that he could not use his sword, she released one hand from her sword hilt to land an uppercut into her adversary’s diaphragm. He stumbled forward, half-winded. Taking advantage of the moment, Tempestra ducked out from underneath his arm. She pivoted and chopped again at his out-stretched right arm, hoping to force him to drop his weapon.

But as her sword cleaved the air, she realized that she’d allowed her left side to be unprotected. Her opponent turned on the spot, swinging his sword in a flashing arc towards Tempestra’s neck–

–and stopped, the edge of the weapon inches from her skin as he stared at her face. Tempestra saw a flash of recognition cross the young man’s features, followed by shock.

“ _Julia?_ ” he whispered.

Tempestra suddenly felt like the ground beneath her feet had fallen away. There was no way that this stranger – this person from another world – could know her real name. No one in Narnia knew her real name, not even Glenstorm, whom she trusted the most. She’d thought she was used to surprises in Narnia, but this topped everything.

She just stood there, sword forgotten, as she stared back at the young man, who was as frozen as she was. Now that she was closer, she could get a good look at him. He had sideswept blond hair, a square jaw which was clenched tightly, and determined blue eyes which roved over her face as if drinking in her appearance. Unlike the other Narnians, he seemed unsurprised by her male garb. But his expression, which had been stunned a moment ago, became bewildered at her lack of recognition. They might have stood there for several more minutes staring at her each, had the next events not happened.

There was a low shout and Caspian leapt out of nowhere, his sword lunging at the young man’s shoulder. The blond youth whirled around and blocked the strike just in time, beginning an earnest fight with the prince. Asterius appeared behind Tempestra, grabbing her arm and tugging her back in time to avoid a swinging blade. It barely missed the young woman, who stumbled backwards, still dazed by the sudden change of events. Who were these people, how did he seem to recognize her, and why hadn’t he killed her? Most importantly, how did he know her real name?

She watched the fight numbly. Though the two young men were equal in age, strength, and stamina, the blond boy seemed to be more experienced and skilled than Caspian. His fighting style, however, was more angry and forceful than when he had battled her. At times, his chops and strikes were so powerful that they could hear the sound of the swords shuddering against each other.

Caspian was hard-pressed trying to keep his opponent off, and eventually the Telmarine prince found himself weaponless, trying to tug the blond boy’s sword from where it was lodged in a nearby tree. Although Tempestra saw the other young man raise a rock to smash into Caspian’s head, she could find no breath to shout a word of warning to the unsuspecting prince as his back was turned. Luckily, someone beat her to it, though it was not a sharp word of warning but a sob of distress.

“No, stop!”

It was the young red-headed girl whom Tempestra had spotted before. The little girl had stood up on the ridge and was looking at the two young men in anguish. It seemed that she could not stand to see the sight of bloodshed and death.

As if on cue, the rest of the Narnian camp appeared on the scene, all of them armed to the teeth and ready for a fight. Pattertwig had run back during the fighting to alert the group that there was danger ahead. Turning and seeing that he was outnumbered, the blond youth looked back at Caspian, who had finally pulled his opponent’s sword from the tree and was holding it ready.

“Prince Caspian?” the blond boy asked hesitantly, his voice vaguely British. The Telmarine prince lifted his chin challengingly.

“Yes? And who are you?”

“Peter!”

At the sudden shout from behind the ridge, Tempestra turned to see three more people appear from behind the little girl: a teenage human girl, a younger human boy, and a white dwarf. Both humans had black hair, wore Narnian clothes, and were armed – the girl with a bow and arrows, and the boy with a longsword. With a jolt, Tempestra realized that all four humans looked related, as if they were siblings. It was the girl who had shouted the blond boy’s name, her voice echoing his English accent.

_Peter? Why does that name sound familiar?_ She didn’t know anyone named Peter, and she was sure that none of the Narnians had the same name.

Caspian also seemed to be adding things up. He looked at the newcomers, then at his opponent’s sword which he still held, and finally at the young man himself. Realization dawned on him.

“High King Peter?”

_High King Peter the Magnificent, Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant… the kings and queens ruled Narnia during the Golden Age._

This was it. These were the kings and queens of old. These were the people whom the Narnians were waiting and searching for, to lead them out of their exile and reclaim their kingdom. And Tempestra had nearly been killed by one of them.

The blond youth, High King Peter, adopted a patronizing tone. He dropped the stone in his hand.

“I believe you called?” he remarked, more regal than he had been mere minutes ago. Caspian still looked astonished.

“Yes, but – I thought you’d be older.”

Judging from the high king’s expression, it was the wrong thing to say, though Tempestra could see the Telmarine prince’s point. The four of them were much younger than she had expected; she had thought that the rulers would be adults, perhaps the same age that they had been when they had disappeared. But the youngest girl could not have been more than ten or eleven years old. How in the world would they be fit to lead a rebellion?

High King Peter began to turn away coolly.

“Well if you’d like, we can come back in a few more years-”

“No,” Caspian broke in hurriedly. “No, that’s all right. It’s just…you weren’t what I expected.”

His eyes flicked over to the rest of the siblings, and Tempestra saw his gaze linger a second longer on the girl who must have been Queen Susan, the girl holding the bow and arrows. The teenage girl smiled slightly, and Tempestra raised an eyebrow. Did she detect some kind of attraction between the two royalties?

In spite of Caspian’s quick backtrack, High King Peter still seemed irritated.

“Neither are you,” he shot back. He looked directly at Tempestra, who met his eyes evenly. Despite the moment they had had during the fight, she liked the blond youth less and less. His lofty, arrogant manner left something to be desired. If this was what the ancient kings and queens were really like, the Narnians had exaggerated their noble and good characters.

The high king was still staring at her accusingly. “Why did you attack me?” he demanded. Tempestra, remembering the sword still clutched in her hands, sheathed it and returned his look challengingly.

“You were about to attack one of the other scouts,” she retorted curtly, folding her arms. “I think it’s fair that I defended him.” When he just stared at her in stunned silence, she glanced questioningly at Caspian, then Glenstorm. Caspian was looking irritably at the high king, and Glenstorm looked disconcerted. Ferrah, Asterius, and a few of the other Narnians avoided her gaze.

Something was wrong. They had withheld an important bit of information from her.

High King Peter bridged the gap between the two of them. Grabbing her by the arms, he shook her slightly as his urgent blue eyes pierced her own.

“ _Julia._ It’s me – Peter.”

“Hey, get off me!” Tempestra shoved the boy in the chest, making him stumble backwards. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded, as he gaped at her. “You can’t just grab people like that. I don’t even know you!”

The young man blanched. For a moment, he was speechless with shock and outrage.

“Your Majesty,” Glenstorm intervened abruptly, his deep voice carrying over to them, “The Lady Lightning has no recollection of being in Narnia.”

The high king shook his head.

“That’s impossible,” he snapped. “We fought alongside each other! We were betrothed, for God’s sake!” He took a step towards Tempestra, who summoned a handful of lightning and held it in front of herself defensively.

“I dare you to touch me again,” she warned, and the young man took a step back, his jaw clenched in fury. There was a tense silence throughout the area. Nobody wanted to speak up and confirm this revelation and in turn infuriate the two of them.

Tempestra swallowed hard, but her outstretched hand did not waver. It all made sense now – Glenstorm evading her questions about her relationship to the long-lost rulers, and the reason why she had been pulled to Narnia in the first place. When the magic horn had summoned the ancient royalty, it had even summoned her – the advisor and royalty-to-be.

“Well….” The younger boy, the one named King Edmund, awkwardly broke the silence. “We can talk about that later.” He looked around at the array of Narnians – wolves, black and white dwarves, centaurs, minotaurs, and more. “We weren’t expecting…everyone.”

Trufflehunter seemed to understand what the boy was hinting at.

“A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes,” the badger replied tactfully, and with that, the Narnians began putting away their weapons. Finally, they had found what they were looking for: their kings and queens of old, their leaders, their inspirations, their saviors.

Reepicheep, the leader of the mice, scurried over to stand in front of High King Peter.

“We have anxiously awaited your return, my liege,” he proclaimed nobly, giving a small bow. “Our hearts and swords are at your service.”

The young man swallowed his former anger and turned to the mouse. He smiled appreciatively, and Tempestra noticed that his expression was not condescending. The fact that he was a mouse was a touchy subject for Reepicheep – not because he was ashamed of being one, but because so many people underestimated and belittled him for it. At least the high king knew better than to do that.

“Well at least we know _some_ of you can handle a blade,” High King Peter remarked, though Tempestra thought that he might have been mocking Caspian’s swordfighting. However, nobody else seemed to notice; in fact, they all looked relieved that the young man seemed to have moved past his initial fury over Tempestra’s reaction.

“Yes, indeed,” Reepicheep replied proudly. “And I have recently put them to good use securing weapons for your army, sire.”

High King Peter nodded decisively, though Tempestra saw, from the corner of her eye, Glenstorm glance at Caspian. When the high king spoke again, the girl turned her attention back to him.

“Good,” the blond boy stated, turning to look at Caspian. “Because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”

One glance at Caspian’s face showed that the Telmarine prince was clearly displeased by the recent turn of events. Indeed, Tempestra could see that resentment had been growing in Caspian’s eyes as he watched everything unfold around him. She could not blame him; they had all met High King Peter in the span of only a few minutes, and already he was establishing himself as the new leader of the Narnians.

Tempestra’s suspicion was confirmed when Caspian held High King Peter’s sword out, his eyes coolly matching the blond boy’s.

“Well then, you will probably be wanting yours back.”

The resentment did not seem to be lost on the young man. However, he merely accepted his sword and sheathed it without comment, before turning around and walking away. The other Narnians, without waiting for Caspian, fell into line behind the high king. With one last glare at his back, Tempestra followed.


	6. Losing everything

The group of Narnians, now accompanied by the legendary rulers, marched in a line of two or three abreast towards Aslan’s How. Peter and Glenstorm, who were deep in conversation, led the parade, while Caspian walked alone in the back. His eyebrows were furrowed in a surly scowl, and he was so deep in thought that it took Tempestra three times to get his attention. When he finally heard her call out his name, he started in surprise. She had stopped by the side of the line; when he caught up to her, they continued their pace.

“Okay, spill.” When Caspian stared at Tempestra uncomprehendingly, the young woman raised her eyebrows. “Tell me what’s been bothering you,” she explained. “Ever since the Pevensies joined us, you’ve been sulking. I know you want to rant, so do it. I’m probably the only one here besides you who doesn’t worship them.” Caspian pressed his lips together, silent, and Tempestra smiled wryly. “What, you don’t want to talk about how much you hate Peter?”

“I don’t _hate_ him,” the prince replied quickly.

“No, but you’re angry that he took control of this whole operation from you.”

“High King Peter has the right to be leading the Narnians,” Caspian remarked, shrugging. “He _was_ the ruler during the Golden Age.”

“And that gives him the only right?” The Telmarine glanced quizzically at Tempestra, who gave her own shrug. “Look, he may have been king of everything a thousand years ago, but this isn’t just his fight. _You’re_ the one who has to unite the Narnians and Telmarines. Only you can bridge the two groups. You can’t just let Peter step in and take over.”

Caspian looked away.

“The Narnians will only look to the ancient rulers,” he insisted.

“I think you’d be surprised how many of them won’t,” Tempestra countered. “Weren’t half of the Narnians here enemies of the Pevensies way back then? You know, black dwarves, minotaurs, and everything? They don’t seem to forget old alliances.”

The Telmarine glanced sideways at her.

“What do you want me to do, challenge King Peter?”

Tempestra snorted.

“Ha. No, nothing like that. You’ll only make enemies that way. Just don’t let him shove you aside when the decision-making happens. You have every right to have an opinion.”

Caspian looked at the young woman thoughtfully. When she raised her eyebrows in question, he shook his head.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, perplexed. “Why are you helping me?”

Hearing Glenstorm call her name near the front of the line, Tempestra began to quicken her pace.

“Because we’re the two outsiders here,” she told Caspian. Giving him a dry smile, she jogged ahead. As she passed by Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, the younger sister caught her hand and squeezed it quickly. Tempestra turned, startled, to see the little girl smiling at her warmly.

“It’s good to see you again, Julia,” Lucy told her cheerfully. Susan was smiling kindly at her as well, as if they were old friends. Unnerved by their casual affection for her, Tempestra gave them an awkward smile and moved on. She was still feeling disconcerted when she caught up to Glenstorm, who strode next to High King Peter. The young man glanced at her, his jaw clenched, then looked away. Tempestra turned away from him stiffly to look at Glenstorm.

“You called?”

The centaur general nodded gravely and began sidling away.

“I leave the both of you to yourselves,” he remarked, and before Tempestra could open her mouth in protest, he made a hasty retreat, leaving her walking side by side with Peter in an uncomfortable silence. When Tempestra glanced back to send him a withering look, she saw that Glenstorm had pulled the group back a couple yards to give them relative privacy.

“This isn’t how I imagined our reunion to go,” Peter said abruptly. His hands were linked tightly behind his back, and he stared straight ahead, his expression determinedly wooden. Tempestra snorted.

“Well, you’re not the only one,” she replied. “I didn’t really think signing up for all of this would include getting an unknown ex.”

“You really can’t remember anything?” the young man asked, glancing at her. “How we met, how we departed, anything?”

Tempestra shook her head.

“I think I’d remember spending fifteen years in a fantasy land,” she said dryly. “And my whole life is accounted for, so…” She shrugged. “I still think all of you have the wrong person.”

“I’m not wrong about this,” Peter insisted. “I would recognize you anytime, anywhere. You’re younger than you were when we left, but it’s you. It’s definitely you.” Tempestra looked away, and he continued, “Maybe you became younger like us when you came back to Earth. We – Sue, Ed, Lucy, and I – we de-aged fifteen years when we went through the wardrobe back to Earth.”

“How did it happen?” Tempestra asked, curious in spite of herself.

Peter’s face was grim.

“We were on a chase,” he explained. “We found the lamppost and the wardrobe, and fell back to Earth from Narnia. We’ve spent the last year at boarding school. We didn’t mean to leave,” he quickly added. “It was an accident. Believe me, I wouldn’t have left Narnia on purpose.”

“Didn’t you miss your parents while you were in Narnia?” Tempestra said doubtfully. “Your home?”

Peter smiled ruefully.

“Cair Paravel became our home,” he replied. “Narnia, our kingdom, was our home. _You_ were my home.” She looked away again, and he added quietly, “I became a boy again, no longer a king. You can’t imagine how that changes a person.”

Tempestra was silent. He was right – she couldn’t imagine the kind of emotional and psychological trauma that would be involved in de-aging fifteen years. She didn’t know what kind of person she would be in fifteen years, but she probably wouldn’t want to relive her teenage years. Growing up once was enough.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” the young woman said slowly. “And you probably want to go back to the way things used to be.” Peter looked at her and opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “But I don’t remember any of that. The other Narnians told me about the Golden Age and all the victories and everything, but that wasn’t me. That couldn’t have been me.”

“So what are you saying?” Peter asked irritably. “You want me to act like those fifteen years didn’t happen? Like we’re strangers?” Tempestra’s silence was answer enough, and the young man looked away with a heavy sigh. Meeting her gaze again, he reached out to touch her shoulder, but dropped his hand and anchored it behind his back once more as if to resist the temptation. Tempestra adopted a kinder tone.

“Try to imagine what I’m feeling now,” she told him firmly. “When we first met, we probably didn’t get along right away. Just try to imagine we’re starting all over again.”

Peter clenched his jaw.

“Fine,” he said finally, but the tone of his voice made it obvious that it wasn’t. “But Julia-” He stopped walking, and she did the same, waiting. The high king swallowed hard, and for a moment Tempestra glimpsed his older self behind his eyes. He looked weary. “Try to imagine what it’s like to lose everything, and even when you return, you can never get it back,” he said quietly. “Try to imagine that, and you’ll know how I feel.” He gave her a deep bow and strode away, leaving her standing by the edge of the line, staring at his retreating back.

* * *

 

“My lady.”

Tempestra turned, still slightly dazed, and saw King Edmund standing beside her; he’d come up without her noticing. He was the one that the Narnians called The Just: a dark-haired boy who had once betrayed his family when he was manipulated by the White Witch, but who had changed afterwards and become a fair ruler. He was the third sibling, the black sheep.

Edmund motioned to the line of Narnians trooping by them. He was smiling as if sharing a joke with her. “Will you walk with me?” he asked. Tempestra nodded, and they fell into step.

“You know I’m not a lady, right?” she remarked after a moment of comfortable silence. Edmund smiled again to himself.

“That’s what you said every time I called you one,” he replied. “But I never saw you complain when you pulled rank on people.” Tempestra gave a small smile, but it was wiped away when she remembered Peter’s words.

“Did you lose everything when you left Narnia?” she asked. Edmund grew somber.

“Pete said that,” he said, more of a statement than a question. When Tempestra nodded, the young man sighed. “I don’t know you as well as Peter does,” he remarked, “but I bet you asked Peter to forget everything between you two.” He glanced at the high king’s figure up ahead. Tempestra’s silence was enough to answer his question.

“Sue, Luce, and I can start over with you, but Peter? That’s a lost cause.” Edmund shook his head, his eyes still on his older brother’s back. “You didn’t see him the whole year since we came back through the wardrobe. He wasn’t just upset because we’d left Narnia and couldn’t get back; he was upset because he thought he’d never see you again.” Tempestra looked away.

“He didn’t have to be so intense when I first met him,” she retorted. “He shook me like he thought that would help me remember or something.” But her argument was half-hearted; Peter’s words and the raw pain in his voice had shaken her.

Edmund snorted.

“Look, he spent a whole year grieving, and when he finally did see you again, you attacked him and claimed that you didn’t remember anything about your years together.”

“But it’s true-”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not,” he interrupted, waving her protest aside. “You might not remember anything, but Peter does. Ever since you walked into Cair Paravel and warned us about that rebellion by the White Witch’s supporters, you made an impression on him. He remembers _everything_ that you’ve done together. Every battle, every dinner, every ball – he treasures all of it.”

The young man glanced at her. “You two were pretty in love at the time,” he remarked. “For Peter, it’s as if one moment you’re pledging your love to him, and the next moment, you’re acting like a stranger.” Tempestra pressed her lips together mulishly, and Edmund shrugged. “I’m not saying you have to pledge your love to him again. I’m just saying you should keep that in mind.” His voice became soft. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know he’s been grieving. He just takes it out in the wrong way.”

* * *

 

It was noon by the time the group arrived at the edge of a large grassy field, at the back of which squatted a large stone structure. It reminded Tempestra strongly of a pyramid, though without the tip. Nearby trees and plants grew around and on top of the crumbling structure, adding to its old and worn façade. Directly in front of the entrance was a small circular area laid down in stone, circled by fallen slabs of rock and framed by two rough square archways. It all gave the impression of a place that had once been in full glory and seen better times, but which now was nothing more than ruins.

Caspian moved to the front to stand alongside the Pevensies, Tempestra, and Glenstorm.

“Welcome,” he announced, “to Aslan’s How.”

Tempestra eyed the edifice doubtfully. It looked hundreds of years old, and not fit to be a defensible headquarters for a rebellion. Yet the Pevensies did not look disappointed; indeed, they looked reverential. As they group approached the stone building, they were greeted by two columns of centaurs flanking the stone path leading to the entrance. The centaurs all had unsheathed swords raised to form an archway for the royalty, and without any hesitation, the Pevensies entered.

Prince Caspian faltered for a moment, letting the Pevensies enter first. When Tempestra stopped and looked back at him, she saw that the prince’s face was one of uncertainty and insecurity. When she raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘are you coming or not’, he nodded and followed her inside.


	7. War conference

**Great Woods**

**Aslan’s How**

The entrance of Aslan’s How led directly to a large circular room with a padded dirt floor. Roughly-hewn stone tunnels with high ceilings branched off of the main room, which was dimly-lit with only scattered torches and small fires to illuminate the large collection of Narnians, who were crouched by the fires. Many of them were sooty from the fires, and all looked grim-faced as they made weapons or sharpened them. It was a bleak sight.

Caspian seemed to realize this, because as they all looked around, he commented, “It may not be what you are used to, but it is defensible.”

The Pevensies didn’t seem to mind the crudeness as they strode through the middle of the room and towards a set of shallow steps leading to a tunnel on the opposite side. Tempestra, however, pursed her lips as she gazed around at the Narnians, many of whom looked up as they passed by. Though many looked awed at the sight of their long-ago kings and queens, they looked too weary to be able to pose much of a threat to their enemies.

“They’re inspired by our presence.”

Turning, Tempestra saw Peter standing behind her, his hands clasped behind his back with a somber look. He had noticed her doubtful look.

“They’re inspired by _your_ presence,” she replied. “You’re the one who’s the Magnificent, remember?” She hesitated, then added, “They’ll need more than inspiration to get through this.”

The high king furrowed his brow.

“Summoning us here is a start. I’m working on the rest.”

From the tunnel came Queen Susan’s voice, which was tinged with a hint of anticipation and excitement.

“Peter, you may want to see this.”

As the youth went over to join his sister, Tempestra took one more glance around the room before following him. The narrow tunnel was even darker than the main room, with fewer torches. The sparse flickering light barely illuminated a series of pictures painted on one of the long tunnel walls. When Tempestra stepped forward to join the Pevensies and Caspian in gazing at the paintings, she saw that they resembled cave drawings, though with more faded colors. The first drawing depicted two Narnian girls riding on the back of a large lion.

“It’s us,” Susan breathed, staring at the image. They all glanced down the wall and saw the rest of the paintings, one of which showed four crowned children, dressed grandly and standing in front of thrones.

“What is this place?” Lucy asked. Her eyes, which had been riveted on a drawing of a faun and an old-fashioned lamppost, came to rest on the Telmarine prince with puzzlement.

Caspian looked surprised at their bewilderment.

“You don’t know?”

Picking up one of the torches hanging on the wall, the Telmarine prince led the group down the dark tunnel. Tempestra made to follow, but stopped at a tap on her shoulder. Resisting the instinctual urge to slap away the hand, she turned to see Peter standing beside her again. The high king inclined his head at the wall next to them.

“Look.”

Tempestra stepped closer to the wall. There, a scene had been painted of a small army of Narnians, weapons drawn and pointed at an army of roughly-dressed men who could be none other than Telmarines. At the head of the Narnian army were two bold figures on horses: a young blond man in full battle armor; and a young woman in black leather armor, violet cloth, and chain mail.

There was no mistaking High King Peter and the Lady Lightning. The artist had included the smallest of details, including the rearing red lion on Peter’s tunic, and the brilliant lightning bursting from Julia’s brandished sword.

“My God,” Tempestra whispered. Reaching out, she touched the painting with trembling fingers. “It’s us.”

Peter nodded.

“The first time we fought alongside each other.” He pointed to another picture to the right, which showed High King Peter seated on his throne, and the Lightning Lady standing to his side behind him. Almost unnoticeably, her hand was resting on his shoulder. “This probably represents my reign, and your time as advisor.” The youth stared at the painting, obviously reminiscing. “As a pair, we were invincible. We could do no wrong.”

Tempestra looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

“Right,” she said. “Until you disappeared, I forgot everything, and the Telmarines took over.”

Peter’s face hardened.

“But now that we’ve returned, we’ll take Narnia back.”

The young woman did not like his expression. It was one of determination, driving ambition, even anger. But before she could say anything, a bright flare of light caught their attention; it came from deeper inside the tunnel. By the time they made it down the steps and into the large stone room at the end of the tunnel, they saw that Caspian had lit a fiery trench that circled the perimeter of the room, revealing solid pillars, blocks of fallen stone, and smooth carvings on the walls. At the center was a stone slab, which was cracked down the middle, and a stone archway. Carved into the wall and framed by the archway was a picture of a majestic lion. It stared down at them, its expression both intimidating and reassuring.

“Aslan?” Tempestra murmured. During her time spent with the Narnians, they had told her stories and legends that were crucial to the culture of Narnia. Aslan had been the leading figure, starting from the beginning. It had been he who had created the land of Narnia, and given voices to the animals. The Narnians regarded him as a mixture between a god and a king.

Lucy slowly walked forward towards the Stone Table, her eyes on the carving of Aslan. Stopping, she turned back to look at them.

“He must know what he’s doing,” she told them, her eyes pleading.

Looking around at everyone else’s expressions – and seeing uncertainty on many – Tempestra turned her gaze lastly on the high king. Peter was staring at Aslan’s carving as well, though his face was one of mulishness. Looking at his face, Tempestra realized that the young man had lost hope in Aslan. His bitterness in returning to England and being reduced to a child had combined with his anger at the Telmarines. He was rebellious now, and stubborn.

Peter swallowed almost imperceptibly, then looked at the others.

“I think it’s up to us now,” he announced. Without another word, they all looked back at Aslan’s carving.

* * *

“Julia? Or do you prefer Lady Lightning?”

Tempestra turned around to see Queen Lucy sitting on the edge of the Stone Table, watching her. The little girl’s voice had been teasing, but the young woman noticed the formal underlying tone; it was unsettling to hear it coming from a twelve-year-old with a British accent. It wasn’t right for a little girl her age to be so proper.

“Tempestra’s fine.” She didn’t bother with the titles anymore. The Pevensies – especially Peter – had made it clear that they were old friends and titles were not to be used among friends. Caspian had followed their lead, and all of them had dropped the formalities. At her request, they were all calling her Tempestra, but the Pevensies often slipped and used her real name, to her discomfort.

Lucy cocked her head to the side, child-like once more. Tempestra imagined her relearning all of the little movements and habits of children again, just to placate adults and convince them that she was truly acting her age.

“Do you think Aslan exists?”

Tempestra was speechless. After a faun lookout reported that a Telmarine soldier had spotted the How and ridden back to report the Narnians’ whereabouts, High King Peter had summoned a full war conference. He, Caspian, Susan, and Edmund had left to gather the leaders of the Narnian group, leaving Tempestra and Lucy to wait in the room with the Stone Table. Somehow, despite her effort to settle into a comfortable silence, the young woman found herself being asked a loaded question by the youngest sibling of the royal family. Lucy had told her siblings that she had wanted to stay in the room with Tempestra; now she knew why.

“Well…” Tempestra looked up at the stone carving of the lion. “I don’t know.” The little red-headed girl was gazing at her, her eyes thoughtful but sharp. “I know some Narnians think he does,” she continued carefully. “And I know they put their faith in him.”

“But what about you?” Lucy persisted, leaning forward.

Tempestra folded her arms, wishing that the others would return soon. This wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation that she wanted to have with a twelve-year-old stranger who chatted her up like they were best friends.

“I’ve never seen Aslan, and nobody else has for thousands of years,” the young woman replied simply. “I need proof of something’s existence in order to believe in it. Otherwise, I don’t see it _existing_ as much as _living in the minds of many_.”

A small frown furrowed Lucy’s smooth brow.

“So to you, seeing is believing?” she asked.

Tempestra nodded, glancing back at the carving of Aslan on the stone wall.

“I don’t like to put all my faith and hope into just an idea,” she remarked quietly. “I’ve seen people using symbols as excuses to do terrible things. It’s not really…practical.”

The young woman looked back at Lucy to see the girl still watching her intently, and in a flash she saw it again: that wisdom and knowledge that came from years of growing up and maturing, not to mention ruling over a kingdom. It was disconcerting to see it in the eyes of a twelve-year-old. Then again, she reminded herself, Lucy was not just a twelve-year-old. In truth, she was a twenty-seven-year-old in a twelve-year-old’s body. In Narnia, the girl had grown up to the age of twenty-six, returned to England as eleven, then spent a year there and returned to become twelve.

It wasn’t right, Tempestra thought, feeling troubled. It wasn’t natural. How could Lucy and the other Pevensies grow up to become adults, only to become young again and be treated as children? No wonder Peter had been so frustrated. He and his siblings had had their lives snatched away from them when they were in their prime.

Despite Tempestra’s assertion about Aslan, Lucy was still smiling.

“Aslan and Narnia aren’t about practicality,” she remarked. “They’re about belief. You say that Aslan is just a symbol and idea for people to believe in, but what else do people have besides their beliefs? Everyone needs something to believe in – something to inspire them.” The little girl’s tone became serious. “You’ve never seen Aslan, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here. Perhaps _believing_ is _seeing_.” 

* * *

 

Only a half hour later, the rest of the Pevensies, Caspian, and the Narnian leaders were back in the Stone Table Room. High King Peter stood in the center of the room, the Narnians ranged in a circle around him. Their numbers included Glenstorm and several of his sons, Reepicheep and a few of his mice, Trufflehunter, Trumpkin, Nikabrik, another dwarf, the squirrel Pattertwig, Asterius (now a general) and two other minotaurs, Ferrah, a few fauns, a bear, and a tiger. Caspian stood a few feet away, Lucy still sat on the edge of the Stone Table, and Susan and Edmund were situated on opposite sides of the room, sitting on blocks of stone. Tempestra leaned inconspicuously against a half-crumbled pillar, her arms folded as she thoughtfully watched the room and its occupants.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Peter declared. “Miraz’s men and war machines are on their way.” The young man turned, looking around at them all. If he noticed Caspian’s guarded look, he didn’t let on. “That means those same men aren’t protecting his castle.”

Reepicheep, standing on one of the stone blocks, spoke up.

“What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?” he asked.

“We need running water-” Caspian began.

“We need to get ready for-” Peter said at the same time.

There was a moment of tension as the high king turned to look irritably at the Telmarine prince. Backing down, Caspian nodded resentfully and fell silent. Peter turned back to look around the room once again.

“Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us.”

Caspian looked incredulous.

“But that’s crazy! No one has ever taken that castle.”

Peter gave a light shrug.

“There’s always a first time,” he replied contemptuously.

Meanwhile, Trumpkin was nodding resolutely.

“We’ll have the element of surprise,” he reminded them.

“But we have the advantage here,” Caspian protested. To Tempestra’s surprise, Susan got to her feet and went to stand behind the Telmarine prince.

“If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely,” she suggested, looking from Caspian to Peter. Her brother shot her a displeased look, but the young woman just lifted her chin stubbornly.

“I, for one, feel safer underground,” Trufflehunter remarked firmly. But Peter was already taking a step towards Caspian.

“Look,” he said reassuringly, “I appreciate what you’ve done here, but this isn’t a fortress – it’s a tomb.”

Edmund was already warming up to his brother’s plan.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and if they’re smart, the Telmarines will just wait and starve us out.”

“We could collect nuts!” Pattertwig declared excitedly.

Reepicheep, who was standing next to him, looked disgusted.

“Yes, and throw them at the Telmarines!” he commented sarcastically, throwing up his hands. Shooting a scornful look at the squirrel, he added scathingly, “Shut up.” The mouse turned back at Peter. “I think you know where I stand on this, Sire.”

There was a moment of uncertainty as the mouse’s words sank in. In confirming where he stood on the matter, Reepicheep had forced them to all realize that they had to take sides: Caspian’s or Peter’s. Trufflehunter, Susan, and Pattertwig had already shown to be on Caspian’s side; but Peter had Trumpkin, Reepicheep, and Edmund supporting him. Those three had more weight than Caspian’s group. Still, there were a few loose ends – important players who had yet to throw in their lot with one of the young men.

“From my experience, I can tell you that staying here’s just prolonging your defeat,” Tempestra remarked casually. Everyone looked over at the young woman, who shrugged casually. “Where I come from, we have this saying: the best defense is a good offense.” She looked over to meet Peter’s gaze and held it steadily. The high king looked both relieved and triumphant. Prince Caspian’s expression, on the other hand, was one of both annoyance and frustration. Ignoring him, Peter turned to Glenstorm, the last piece waiting to fall into place.

“If I can get your troops in, can you handle the guards?”

The centaur general glanced at Caspian, who was looking at him almost desperately. The prince knew that his chances of winning were growing slimmer by the second. If Glenstorm didn’t support him…

“Or die trying, my liege.” The centaur bowed his head, avoiding Caspian’s gaze. They all knew that the balance of power had changed. The Telmarine prince was no longer the leader of the Narnians – Peter was. Caspian’s fear had come true.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Everyone turned to Lucy, who had spoken up. Peter furrowed his brow.

“Sorry?”

Lucy looked from Peter to Caspian, her expression dismayed.

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options: dying here, or dying there.”

Peter shifted impatiently.

“I’m not sure you’ve really been listening, Lu.”

“No, _you’re_ not listening,” the girl countered with a frown. “Or have you forgotten who _really_ defeated the White Witch, Peter?”

For a brief moment Tempestra stared at Lucy uncomprehendingly before her question sank in. It was Aslan who had killed the White Witch, she finally realized, remembering the Narnian story. Aslan had recued Peter when he was about to be killed by Jadis. But that Peter was very different than the one who stood before them now; he had been sixteen at the time, uncertain and fighting his first battle. Now, he was a high king with fifteen years of rule under his belt and no Aslan in sight.

He won’t back down, Tempestra thought, watching the young man. He’s dead set on proving that he can save Narnia himself this time.

She was right. Peter met his sister’s gaze scornfully, his jaw set.

“I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” he retorted. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the room with a finality that ended the discussion.


	8. A promise

After the war conference, the Pevensies and other Narnian leaders went to the rest of the Narnians to announce their plan and map out strategies for the invasion on Miraz's castle. When that was finished, they dispersed to prepare for their individual responsibilities. It wasn't until a few hours later could Tempestra finally find Peter unattached to a group of Narnians. Yet it wasn't as easy to find the high king as she had thought. Aslan's How boasted a network of tunnels which formed a veritable underground maze, steadily growing larger to accommodate the growing number of Narnians. It was difficult to find one person.

The sounds of clashing steel and shouted words alerted Tempestra to Peter's presence, and she quickened her pace down one of the many tunnels. As she rounded a bend, she saw the high king and a small centaur boy sparring. Peter's movements were slow and careful, and Tempestra crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the tunnel to watch.

"Good, now look for openings in my form!" Peter was telling the boy. Though his face looked tired, his voice was heartening. "Take advantage of it! Parry – thrust – don't forget to defend yourself!"

With a clatter, the centaur boy's small sword went flying when Peter disarmed him with a quick twist of the wrist. When the small boy picked up his sword, looking disappointed, the high king just smiled and ruffled his hair. "You'll improve as you get older," he told him encouragingly. His student walked off, brandishing his sword against invisible foes, and Peter sheathed his sword and turned to look at Tempestra.

"One of my duties," he commented offhandedly, referring to his swordfighting lesson. "It comes with the crown." Unconsciously, he mirrored Tempestra's folded arms. "Are you all right?"

"Why were you so against waiting for Aslan?"

Tempestra's question was as direct as a straight punch to the chest, and Peter blinked in surprise.

"Well, it's like you said," he replied, keeping his voice even. "We can't wait forever for him to come save us; the Telmarines will overwhelm us far before that."

Tempestra shook her head.

"Don't get me wrong," she remarked, "I understand why you don't want to. But you're not answering my question. _Why were you so against waiting for him?_ "

She met Peter's eyes evenly, refusing to look away. The high king clenched and unclenched his jaw imperceptibly, and when she continued to stare him down, he sighed and looked away.

"You could always see through me," he said ruefully. When Tempestra continued to glare at him, he finally burst out, "I don't trust him, all right?"

"Caspian or Aslan?"

"Both, I suppose." Peter shifted his stance tensely. "Caspian because, well, he's Telmarine and inexperienced. Aslan because of what he hasn't done."

Tempestra's brows furrowed.

"'Hasn't done?'" she repeated.

Peter sighed again and unfolded his arms to run a hand distractedly through his hair.

"Look, Aslan truly did defeat the White Witch in the Battle of the Beruna, right?" He didn't wait for her answer and went on, "He was the one who saved us. He's the one who's always supposed to save us, to come when we call him for help. But where was he when we fell back into England?" The youth's hands clenched, and he raised one forearm to slam against the tunnel wall. "Where was he when we couldn't get back to Narnia? Where was he when the Telmarines invaded and took over? Where was he when the Narnians were slaughtered? _Where was he_?"

Peter punctuated each demand with a thump against the wall as Tempestra watched somberly. The high king fell silent and exhaled slowly, then leaned his forehead against his arm. He closed his eyes.

"I've heard what happened when we were gone," he said quietly. "I saw the ruins of Cair Paravel. I see the How, a fallen structure once dedicated to a symbol of hope. I see the pain in the Narnians' eyes. I see what they've endured for generations. I see them, and I wonder, 'If Aslan is here to save us all, why didn't he save them?'"

Tempestra gazed at him with a mixture of sadness and pity. To witness the remnants of an entire kingdom that he had once loved and ruled…

"You're blaming him for all of it."

Peter lifted his head to look at her.

"Yes, I do. Why should we wait for the great lion, when he didn't come to our aid when we needed him the most?"

She couldn't argue with that, not when she had been wondering the same thing ever since she'd heard the history of Narnia. She knew that the Narnians, those who had stopped believing in Aslan and the Pevensies, wondered the same thing. The foundations of their beliefs had been broken hundreds of years ago, and their spirits had been crushed. Peter had seen this and vowed to liberate the Narnians. She couldn't blame him for losing hope in Aslan. All he could do now was march ahead and fight with what little time and power they had.

What was she doing here, fighting a war that she had no personal involvement in? If most of the Narnians and Pevensies doubted that Aslan would appear, why stay and help?

 _Peter_ , she thought. He was fighting a losing battle, and yet he still fought on. He, the Pevensies, and the Narnians were outnumbered and outclassed, and yet here he was, risking his life to protect his people and regain their freedom. She knew what it was like to be the underdog and have all the weights stacked against her, and she could never resist defending others in the same situation. The Narnians had a good and just cause.

And they needed the help badly.

Tempestra swallowed.

"Peter." The young man, whose gaze had fallen to the ground, looked back at her. "Even if Aslan doesn't come…I'll still be here." She braced herself against the enormous weight of her words, and added, "I promise."

Peter gave her a small smile.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He studied her thoughtfully, the emotional moment forgotten. "You know…you're more yourself now."

Tempestra raised her eyebrows doubtfully.

"You don't know what I'm like."

Peter gave her a crooked smile.

"I know you wear your hair up when you go into battle," he retorted, "you have a birthmark on your lower back, and your left shoulder is weaker because of an old arrow wound-"

"I've never had an arrow wound in my shoulder," Tempestra interjected.

"-I know you're stubborn and you don't like admitting when you're wrong, you're afraid of drowning, you're distrustful-" "Okay, I get it." "-but you're also clever, and honest, and forgiving," Peter finished, "and I would give the world for things to be the way they were."

His voice lowered at the last statement, and his gaze held hers steadily. He was less than an arms-length away from her, with only her folded arms between them. The look in his eyes was painfully compassionate, and Tempestra – realizing that she was holding her breath – felt her face flush. For a moment, the air felt charged, and her heart thudded audibly in her ears.

"Peter?"

The two of them sprang apart and looked around to see Edmund standing at the other end of the tunnel, his expression entirely unsurprised at their positions. "Trumpkin has a question about his part of the plan," the youth said, looking between them. "Could you…?"

Peter straightened.

"Uh, yes. I'll talk to him." He followed his brother out of the tunnel, but not before glancing back at Tempestra first, his face just as flushed as hers. It wasn't until she felt her face cool down once again did Tempestra finally steel herself and join the others.

* * *

Most of the Narnians were in the largest area near the entrance to the How, crouched near fires. Some sharpened weapons or blackened them with soot to prevent their shining blades from reflecting light. Still others went over the details of the plan, or put in some last-minute combat practice. Tension could be seen in the lines between their furrowed eyebrows, and in their stiff movements.

Queen Susan sat apart from the rest. Unlike the others, she was seated comfortably next to a fire while in the tedious process of making arrows. The Narnians already had a large supply ready, but Susan had a more unique and refined quiver; her arrows were made from dark red wood, fletched with dyed red feathers, wrapped with gold-colored thread, and set with metal arrow heads that gleamed in the firelight. The materials were scattered in piles on the ground around the young queen, whose head was bent close to the fire, her hands patient and precise.

Without hesitation, Tempestra approached and sat beside Susan, where she watched the young woman at work for a moment.

"Need a hand?"

Eyes still on her handiwork, Susan smiled gratefully.

"Actually, yes," she replied. Pausing, she pointed to a spool of thread next to a few long strands. "I'm running a bit low - can you cut more?"

As Tempestra began to measure and cut more thread, Susan said slowly, "You know…there's a reason why the Narnians call me Queen Susan the Gentle." When Tempestra glanced up, the queen continued, "It's not because I don't fight, but because I always know when to pick my fights. When there's a threat, Peter's first instinct is to get up and attack first; mine is to calm down and think rationally."

Tempestra lowered her tools.

"Are you talking about how you didn't support the siege?" she asked bluntly, and Susan nodded, her eyes still on the thread that she was using to secure an arrowhead.

"I was thinking about our safety."

"And I was thinking about the bigger picture," Tempestra retorted. She began cutting thread again. "Does this mean you're not going to help?"

Susan pursed her lips.

"It's been decided," she replied with a shrug, "so of course I'll go along with it. I'm ready – are you?"

Tempestra glanced at her.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

With one last tight knot, Susan finished tying the arrowhead in place and began fletching the arrow with feathers.

"I don't think you've decided whether you're really with us or not." Ignoring Tempestra's stare, she held the feathers in place and waited for the glue to set. "You use a sword," she remarked, "But you're not using it for what it was made for."

"Which is?" Tempestra asked.

"To kill," Susan said simply. She calmly placed her finished arrow on top of the pile stacked next to her quiver, and reached for a new peeled and smooth-sanded branch as her companion started cutting thread once more.

"I'm not a killer," Tempestra told her firmly. "That's not what I was trained for."

Susan shrugged.

"When you wield a sword, you take on the knowledge that you will kill someone; you shoulder the responsibility for those consequences. There can't be any indecision." She looked over to see Tempestra staring at the fire, looking troubled, and the young queen sighed.

"I know something about indecision," she remarked quietly. Her hands were sure and deft as she used a dagger to carve notches into the ends of the branch. "After Peter, Lucy, Edmund and I accidentally returned to Earth, we…reacted differently." Tempestra glanced at her curiously. "Lucy was always so sure that we would come back to Narnia. She was the one who talked the most about it – that Aslan probably meant for us to leave Narnia because it was during peacetime, that we'd go back when they needed us, that it was only a matter of time. Peter and Edmund thought so too – or they hoped. But after awhile, I didn't."

The firelight flickered over Susan's composed face, but Tempestra thought she also saw something like sorrow. "I tried to settle back into life in England," Susan continued, methodically crafting her arrow. "I studied hard, distanced myself from everything, and tried not to think about Narnia. I was just getting used to being in England, before we were brought back here."

"What are you saying, then?" Tempestra finally asked, and Susan looked at her, surprised.

"I keep forgetting that you don't remember all the years that you were here," she commented. "When you were here last time, you had a small crisis over your methods. At first, you refused to kill, but when you settled into your life in Narnia, you realized it was necessary."

Tempestra's mouth twisted.

"Because using a sword is the best chance I have to survive a fight."

"Surviving a fight isn't about defending yourself," Susan replied. "It's about defeating your opponent. When the time comes, you won't have time to worry about keeping the enemy alive." She finally glanced up. "Are you ready for that?"

The other young woman was saved the chance to reply when Caspian strode over.

"What were you doing?" he demanded without preamble. Surprised, Tempestra glanced up. The stormy expression on the prince's face was enough to make her set down her tools and get to her feet. Though Caspian could barely contain his fury, his voice was low. "I thought you said you would stand by me, but you sided with High King Peter. What happened?"

As Susan listened warily, Tempestra narrowed her eyes at the prince's accusing tone.

"This isn't about siding with anyone," she retorted. "It's about choosing the rational plan of action. I decided that Peter's idea was more rational, so I said so."

"You're backstabbing me," Caspian snapped, his voice rising, and Tempestra folded her arms defiantly.

"When did this become a personal fight between you and Peter?" she asked scornfully. "Because I thought it was between the Narnians and the Telmarines." Susan was now on her feet as well, moving to shield the argument from the Narnians' curious gazes. Caspian's jaw was clenched, his voice no longer at a murmur.

"Just because you used to sleep with him," he retorted, "doesn't mean you have to take his side now."

"Caspian!" Susan looked indignant. Tempestra's expression, on the other hand, was stony as she matched the prince's furious gaze.

"I think you have me confused for someone who gives a shit what you're saying," she told him coldly, and Caspian's lips twisted in disgust.

"You're not her," he said contemptuously. "You're not who they said you would be."

Tempestra raised her eyebrows challengingly.

"I'm glad we can agree on something, then."

Susan shouldered her way between them, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the room. Although their position at the edge of the room gave them a degree of privacy, their rising voices had made some Narnians look over.

"Let it go, both of you," the young queen ordered. "We have a siege to do soon, and we have to work together smoothly."

Physically separated by Susan, Tempestra and Caspian stepped away. After a tense few seconds of glaring at each other, they bit back their words and stalked away in opposite directions, leaving a weary Susan to pick up the pieces.


	9. Attack

**Miraz's Castle**

**Air Space**

Tempestra did not believe in the higher power of Aslan the way that Lucy and some of the Narnians did, but at that moment, she was strongly tempted to pray to him for luck. It had been an exhausting past four weeks, and an even more exhausting past couple of days. She had met her legendary fiancé, moved into an ancient fortification, then participated in some political conflicts and war strategies. Now she was helping to lead a large-scale siege against a castle that was bristling with heavily-armed soldiers.

It was nearly midnight, the sky pitch-black and studded with stars. But she and the other Narnians did not notice; their eyes were fixed on the ground below them as the gryphons, who clutched them in their talons, flew towards Miraz's fortress as silently as possible. Once in awhile, they flew through the occasional low-hanging cloud, which covered them in droplets of water and chilled them to the bone. Whenever that occurred, the group braced themselves and continued on. It was necessary to fly at such a high altitude; any lower, and they ran the risk of being spotted from the ground.

And that was the last thing they wanted at that moment.

Edmund, who had flown in earlier with the gryphon Filius, had the task of eliminating the tower guard who was nearest to the fortress gate, then signaling the gryphons who were circling above the castle to descend. Once that was done, he would signal the ground army to approach from the edge of the forest and into the castle.

Sure enough, a second after Tempestra glimpsed the stone towers of Miraz's fortress, a narrow but bright beam of light flickered on and off from out of the dark. It had been Tempestra's idea to use Edmund's flashlight (or torch, as the Pevensies called it) as a signaling device, and she now internally prayed that the battery would last. At the signal, the gryphons and Narnians dove towards the castle as the ground army below made their way past the town gate and towards the castle, where they would wait for the next signal to charge across the drawbridge.

Tempestra slowly unsheathed her long knives. Gripping them tightly, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and collect her energy as they descended towards one of the castle towers. When a Telmarine guard turned and spotted them, Caspian used his own unsheathed weapon to cut the soldier down quickly and quietly.

Tempestra detachedly wondered if Caspian felt any qualms in killing his fellow Telmarines. He may have even known some of them.

A few seconds later, they flew towards two tower guards facing away from them, one of whom had spotted Edmund and was aiming a crossbow at his back. Tempestra didn't dare open her mouth to call a warning to Edmund, and a second later, she found that she didn't have to. With barely a sound, Susan loosed an arrow at the guard's back, and the Telmarine collapsed onto the ground. The other guard whirled around at the sound of the released bow, only to be cut down by Peter as the high king, queen, and prince landed on the battlement and broke into a run. Unburdened by the humans, the gryphons flew away to sweep the castle's air space and memorize the layout. If anything was to happen, they would alert the Narnian leaders.

Instead of following the royal leaders, Tempestra flew over the battlement and towards the large courtyard beyond the large iron gate. Following Caspian's previous instructions, she was deposited by her gryphon at the top of a flight of stone stairs, then hurried inside the castle and down a corridor. Her part in the plan was to prevent as many soldiers as possible from waking up to attack the invading Narnians. With any luck, by the time the soldiers woke up and broke out, the Narnians would have killed Miraz and taken the castle.

Of course, that depended on the other parts of the plan working. Susan and Peter had to kill Miraz then help Caspian open the iron gate, and Tempestra had to go to the gatehouse to help Asterius, Trumpkin, Reepicheep, and a few other Narnians to open the drawbridge. Once the gate was open and the drawbridge lowered, Edmund would be able to signal the ground troops to charge into the castle. So much of the plan depended on perfect timing, and so much of it could collapse if something went wrong. It was a good thing only the leaders knew the full plan; if the regular Narnians knew the plan in its entirety, they might have opposed it because it was so risky.

Several corridors and turns later, Tempestra was facing a set of low stone buildings lined with wooden doors and shuttered windows. Behind them, Telmarine soldiers slept peacefully in their barracks. Looking around, the young woman spotted a pile of discarded scrap wood that was meant for firewood; Caspian had suggested to her earlier that it might be useful as door stoppers. She sheathed her knives and, seizing a few pieces of wood, began quietly wedging them in the gaps under the doors and around the door and window frames.

Despite her anxiousness to get the job done, Tempestra could hardly hammer the wood noisily between the doors and stones. Jaw set firmly, she squeezed each piece of wood inch by inch into the gaps, stopping every few moments to listen hard for any sound of a soldier waking up. From outside, all she could hear was the occasional rustle of blankets, and one particularly loud snoring sleeper. As she worked quietly, she kept her ears open for any pause in the steady sound.

Finally, the young woman finished. Picking up the extra pieces of wood, she gathered them in her arms to set them back in the pile. As she did, a chunk of wood slipped from between her arms and clattered to the ground. In the empty stillness, the sound was like a thunderclap.

She froze.

Inside the barracks, the monotonous snore had abruptly stopped. Without the sound droning on in the background, the quiet suddenly seemed too empty and too large, like a limitless vacuum. Tempestra breathed shallowly, not daring to move for fear of dropping another piece. If a soldier woke and attempted to investigate the noise, he would quickly find that the doors and windows were lodged shut. No doubt he would call the alarm, and the Narnians' advantage of secrecy would be lost. The Telmarines would be ready before their attack could even begin.

The silence rang in the young woman's ears, and for the first time, she was afraid of the stillness – and what would break it. She could already imagine the sound of the door rattling as a soldier tried to open it in vain, or the scrape of a weapon being unsheathed. After a long, nerve-racking moment, she heard cloth rustling-

-and the snoring resumed.

Tempestra's shoulders sagged with relief. After depositing the wood quietly back to the pile, she straightened, realizing that her heart was racing. Then, after another glance to check that her handiwork was sound, she turned and jogged swiftly towards the gatehouse. The castle was utterly silent. It was her heart that seemed loudest; it thudded audibly in her ears, spurred on by adrenaline from the run and the tension. So far, she hadn't met any obstacles, and the lack of commotion proved that the others hadn't either. Taking a deep breath, she felt herself relax. The plan just might work.

Then all hell broke loose.

A piercing cry split the stillness, making Tempestra start in shock. A second later, there was a quiet shout of pain, and the sound of a door slamming.

"Shit."

She faltered for a moment, then broke into a run, abandoning all pretense of silence. The Telmarines would know soon enough that they were under attack.

BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG.

At the thunderous bells warning the castle, Tempestra cursed again. Somehow, the Telmarines had discovered them. The element of surprise was gone, and much too early; she hadn't made it to the gatehouse yet, so the drawbridge was still closed. Even if the army was ready to charge in, they wouldn't be able to get in. The leaders would be alone and trapped inside the fortress, and since they were still scattered around the castle, even the gryphons couldn't save them. They had no way out.

Despair dragged down at the vigilante's heart. They couldn't make it. They had to call off the attack.

"STOP!"

Tempestra whirled around at the shout behind her, and spotted four Telmarine soldiers approaching her from the opposite end of the corridor. They were fully armed with swords and dressed in hard leather tunics over chain mail armor. Despite their initial confusion over seeing a battle-ready woman running around the castle, they charged towards her, swords drawn and ready. Tempestra fleetingly considered heading to the gatehouse and trying to outrun them, then dismissed the thought; she would have to face them eventually.

She had come equipped with her own sword, but chose to unsheathe her long knives instead. She wasn't confident enough in her swordplay to take on four soldiers at once, but with her customary weapons, she was more than ready. And with her advantage of otherworldliness – her appearance and lightning abilities – she hoped to unnerve her opponents and distract them enough to defeat them before they could muster their full concentration.

She was right.

The second that lightning began to crawl down her arm, the soldiers' eyes widened. Surprise turned to shock as the small bolts raced down her weapon, then shot through the air and collided with the closest Telmarine. The soldier yelped as he was flung backwards from the force of the blast. When he landed on the ground, there was the faint smell of burnt cloth and skin, and the man did not move from where he lay.

Before the other soldiers could react, Tempestra fired off three more blasts, which found their targets and swiftly knocked them out. They would remain immobilized for a few hours, and recover only to find burns covering their bodies. The chain mail that they wore, though useful against sharp weapons, only exacerbated the effect of lightning. Tempestra usually used a little less force in her lightning attacks, but she couldn't afford to be careful this time; instead of facing one or two opponents like she usually did, she had an entire army. When she wanted someone to go down, she wanted them to stay down.

The tolling of the bells had stopped, but another sound had taken its place: the shouts and cries of battling warriors, and the clang of weapons meeting in combat. Somehow, in spite of the early alarm, the Narnian troops had finally arrived. Tempestra changed directions and headed for the courtyard where the fighting was taking place. If the Narnian troops had made it into the castle, then it meant that the drawbridge had been let down and the gate opened. They would need her for the fight, now, and they would need all the help they could get. As she skidded to a halt at the edge of the courtyard, the young woman surveyed the scene in front of her.

The courtyard was in chaos. Though darkness had enveloped them just a half hour earlier, moonlight now spilled from the black sky and illuminated the fight. Everywhere she looked, Telmarine soldiers – newly freed from their barracks – struggled against the Narnian rebels. Someone had been alerted by the bells and released the soldiers, who were still trickling into the courtyard to enter the fray. The Telmarines' sheer numbers made them equal to the ferocity and passion of the oppressed Narnians, and for every Telmarine soldier that a Narnian took down, three more would take his place. In the midst of it all were Peter, Caspian, Glenstorm, and Susan, who were worth two of any Telmarine or Narnian, and who cut through the mass like scythes in a wheat field.

Tempestra exploded onto the scene, felling two Telmarines soldiers with lightning blasts before they noticed that she was there. Turning, she spotted a soldier locked in a death grip with Ferrah, and another advancing from behind with a raised sword. The young woman sliced at the back of his knees where his clothes were uncovered by armor, and the Telmarine went down. Ferrah tore out his enemy's throat and – bloody teeth bared – leapt to his next target.

There was a dull gleam of moonlight on metal, and Tempestra whirled to meet a soldier running at her. He swung his sword sideways, hoping to behead her, and she parried his attack before slamming the hilt of her knife down on his sword wrist. It broke with a sickening crack, and her opponent sank to the ground, crying out. Tempestra knocked him out with a well-placed kick to the head. Another soldier nearby drew back his sword to run her through; she parried his thrust with one knife, then used the other to slash the back of his hand. He screamed and dropped his weapon, and the young woman tossed him backwards with a blast of lightning.

Susan was suddenly next to her, firing off arrows and stabbing her adversaries when they came too close. When Tempestra stunned an unsuspecting Telmarine by smashing the hilt of her knife onto his head, the young queen gave a frustrated shout and pierced the man's back with one of her arrows.

"Don't be a dimwit!" She yelled at Tempestra, who had given a cry of surprise and protest. The girl known as 'The Gentle' used her bow to crush the windpipe of another soldier, and added, "If you knock them out, they'll only get up again! Didn't you hear what I said earlier?!"

"I heard you!" Tempestra shouted back, parrying a Telmarine's attack and stabbing him through the shoulder. "I just decided not to listen!"

Susan gave another shout of frustration, but was too busy to reply; three Telmarines had converged on her, and Tempestra was turning to confront two more. Her lack of armor or stiff leather allowed her a freedom of movement that the Telmarines lacked, and she used it to her advantage as she dodged and evaded powerful but heavy-handed attacks. She was dimly aware of Peter's vigilant gaze returning to her constantly, but she ignored it; it was sweet, but unnecessary.

Then, when it seemed that the Narnians were turning the tide, things started going horribly wrong.

She saw Flynn, the skeptical faun who had met her at the mouth of the cave so long ago. He had locked swords with a soldier and was struggling for dominance. Just when it seemed like he was losing ground, the faun hooked his leg around her adversary's and yanked him to the ground. One thrust of his sword, and the soldier lay still. Tempestra was about to turn away, when a blur caught her eye: a Telmarine behind Flynn had swung his sword. There was a flash of steel and a _thrum_ as the weapon cleaved through the air, and in front of her eyes, the blade bit deep into the faun's neck.

Tempestra opened her mouth to scream in horror, but nothing came out. She choked as Flynn, the Narnian who had once challenged her to an unarmed duel, sank to the ground. Something cold and hard tightened around her heart, and Tempestra blasted the Telmarine backwards with lightning before he could pull his weapon free. A pair of strong arms suddenly grabbed her from behind, pinning her own arms to her sides, and the young woman dropped her knives as she was lifted off the ground. She braced her feet against her attacker's thighs, then arched her back until the soldier was forced to drop her. She landed on her feet, and whirled around to hurl him backwards with a bolt of lightning.

There was a squeak, and an armored mouse – one of Reepicheep's comrades – was kicked into a stone wall. A quick glance upwards told Tempestra that soldiers with crossbows were mobilizing around the edges of the courtyard, ready to pick them off from above, and Miraz stood on a balcony, safe from the fighting. Despite their best efforts, Peter and Susan had not managed to kill him. Tempestra crouched to grab her knives from the ground, and as she did, she saw a minotaur fall to his death from a balcony, and suddenly Peter's voice was ringing out over the noise of the battle.

"FALL BACK! RETREAT!"

At the sound of another massive crash behind her, she turned to see the gate's counterweight on the ground. The gate began its descent, only – she saw with horror – to be stopped by Asterius, who ran under the iron lattice and caught it midway on his shoulders. With a roar and a tremendous surge of strength, the minotaur raised the gate just above his head and kept the Narnians' only exit open. Yet even as the young woman watched, several Telmarines ran towards him, bent on keeping the gate closed.

"FALL BACK!" Peter bellowed again, and the Narnians, seeing the precariousness of their escape route, began fleeing through the half-open gate. Tempestra battled her way towards the exit, stopping only to help other Narnians and order them to retreat. The Telmarine crowd was thinning, but the Narnians were far from being out of danger. She saw Glenstorm swing Susan onto his back and gallop under the gate, and Peter still fought on, but Edmund and Caspian were nowhere to be seen.

Tempestra disarmed and savagely backhanded a Telmarine soldier in the face, then looked around at the sound of slamming wood and the clatter of hooves on stone. Caspian charged out of a set of large double doors, riding a black horse and leading a brown one by the reins. An old man with a long white beard and spectacles rode beside him. They trotted out to the center of the courtyard, where they stopped to look up at Miraz, who stood with General Glozelle on the balcony. The general had his hand raised, holding off his archers. However, he seemed to be arguing with Miraz. Caspian tore his gaze from his uncle, then scanned the area. When he spotted Peter, the Telmarine prince nodded urgently to the riderless horse beside him.

In a flash, Tempestra understood. General Glozelle was keeping his archers from shooting down into the courtyard, yet Miraz was demanding it. He did not seem to care that ordering the soldiers to shoot into the courtyard also meant killing some of his own Telmarine soldiers. Yet he knew that if the archers killed Asterius to close the gate and keep everyone inside, Peter and Caspian would be cornered and killed. Caspian knew this, and had stolen the three horses for himself, the old man, and Peter to escape more quickly.

Yet he'd forgotten about Tempestra, who was still fighting in the middle of a cluster of Telmarines, and was too busy to head for the gate. The young woman felt a flare of cold fury which she vented out on an attacking Telmarine by kicking him in the groin then delivering a roundhouse kick to his head when he dropped to his knees. She ducked to avoid another soldier's sword, then used a bolt of lightning to launch him backwards. Behind her, Asterius buckled slightly, an arrow suddenly protruding from his right leg; the Telmarine archers had begun raining arrows down on them.

For the first time, Tempestra considered the fact that she might die in Narnia.

The thought spurred her on, and she took advantage of a brief reprieve to dart towards the gate, leaping over the bodies of Narnians and Telmarines alike. A second later, when an arrow narrowly missed her, the young woman was forced to stop in order to turn and shoot more arrows out of the air. Slowly, she began stumbling backwards towards the gate.

"Tempestra!"

From the corner of her eye, Tempestra saw Peter on his horse and thundering in her direction from the center of the courtyard, his left hand extended towards her. The young woman, seeing that he meant to help her mount up behind him on the moving horse, felt a rush of relief, which was quickly followed by a pang of fear. She would only get one chance to jump on. Swallowing her fear, she glanced back at the gate to check that it was still open, but as she looked, something caught her attention.

A lone Telmarine soldier armed with a crossbow was kneeling on the battlement above the gate, his weapon steady as he aimed below at one specific target: Peter. The high king, whose attention was focused on Tempestra alone, was completely oblivious to the danger that he was in. He was only seconds away. If Tempestra stopped and turned to shoot the Telmarine soldier, she would miss the chance to grab Peter's hand and escape. But if she ignored the soldier and mounted up behind Peter, the high king would be shot, perhaps fatally.

She was suddenly aware of sweat trickling down her face, and her loudly beating heart. Her mind raced, running through her available options – and in a flash she made her decision. In the next second, as Peter and the horse bore down on her, the young woman made her move.

Time seemed to slow down.

Peter's left hand swung into her field of vision, but instead of grabbing it and leveraging herself up behind the high king, she ignored it. Before he knew what was happening, Tempestra turned slightly, stuck her right foot in the stirrup, and pushed herself up. Grabbing the saddle horn with both hands, she hoisted herself up and swung her left leg over the horse's back so that she was facing backwards, face-to-face with Peter. As a result, he could see her next expression clearly.

A split second after Tempestra mounted in front of Peter, she suddenly jerked forward with a sharp gasp, almost falling onto him. Her face blanched. They both looked down to see the bloody arrowhead protruding from her chest directly across from Peter's heart, which plummeted in his own chest as he met Tempestra's gaze, his horrified expression mirrored in her agonized one. Dark redness bloomed from the wound, and she collapsed against him.

" _Julia._ "

And suddenly they were exploding out of the courtyard, the thunder of hooves clashing with the screams of anguish behind them. There was one primal roar that rang out the strongest, before Asterius surrendered to the five arrows buried in his body.

* * *

As blackness began to fog the edges of her vision, Julia could see over Peter's shoulder as Asterius crumpled and the iron gate fell upon his back, barring the remaining Narnians from escaping. From her position, the young woman could see the fighters pushing against the gate, crying for help. Several attempted to climb it, only to be felled by Telmarine arrows, which continued to rain mercilessly down upon the courtyard. A quarter of their warriors were trapped in there. Peter halted before the drawbridge, but he could only stare helplessly at his troops.

Over Peter's shoulder, Julia wordlessly met the eyes of Rainstone, the oldest of Glenstorm's sons. Of all the Narnians, he was the only one who did not panic or attempt to break open the gate. His eyes were calm; he had resigned himself to his inevitable fate. His eyes met Julia's, and she drew her strength to give him one last thing: courage.

" _Death_."

The centaur could not hear her whisper over the frantic shouts around him, but he could read the word from her lips. He gave a somber nod as Peter looked desperately back at the rest of the retreating Narnians. Rainstone knew that he and the trapped Narnians could not think that they were being left behind. They could not think for one moment that they had been deserted and left to die, or else they would have no courage – no glorious death that legends would speak of in years to come. They had to face the enemy with passion and fury, face their fate with pride, and face the end knowing that it was not a waste for their lives to end in that moment and that place – it was an honor.

"Death."

It was a quiet word, but determined. It was the word Rainstone murmured as he turned away from the gate, it was the call that rallied the remaining Narnians to continue their fight against the overwhelming tide of Telmarines, and it was the battle cry on their lips as the Narnians met their fate with courage, and died despite it. The courtyard rang with the roar.

Death.

And then, when the last arrow was gone, and the last body had fallen, there was only silence.

* * *

Peter had not felt that much fear in a long time. The last time, his brother's life had hung in the balance. Now it was not his brother's life that he feared for, but his friend's. No, not just his friend; she was his confidante, his betrothed, and his queen. They had lived, fought, and loved together for fifteen years, yet in one shivering second, her life was in peril. Peter clutched Julia to his chest as he galloped out of the town, feeling the tip of the arrowhead pressing against his own chest like an insistent reminder of his stark fear – and failure.

Or more accurately, it was not _he_ who had failed. He was not to blame for the bloodbath that had just occurred. And if anything happened to Julia as a result…

The high king shook off the fury that simmered just below the layer of ice around his heart; he would have time for that later. At that moment, he had a more pressing problem. Peter heard and felt the beat of heavy wings above his head and looked over his shoulder to see Edmund and Filius, who had flown over the courtyard. Both had haunted looks in their eyes. Then Edmund saw the unconscious Julia, and shock registered on his face.

"Is she…?"

Peter just shook his head and gestured towards the forest. The sooner they could get to the relative safety of the forest and the Howe, the better. There was only one way of saving Julia, and it was there. It nearly killed him, leaving her untreated and in pain, but they had to return as quickly as possible. If they arrived too late, no amount of healing or magic could save her.


	10. Sacrifices

**Narnian Forest**

“How is she?”

Peter glanced to his left to see Edmund looking up at him. The young king was striding quickly to keep up with Peter’s horse, who was silently trotting at the front of the train of defeated Narnians heading back to Aslan’s How. Caspian and the old man – his former professor – were near the back of the group, and Susan was somewhere in the middle, walking alongside Glenstorm.

“Not good,” the high king replied finally. He had trimmed the arrow shaft protruding from Julia’s back and cushioned it with cloth, which allowed him to sit behind her on his horse and keep her upright with an arm around her waist. She had long since passed out from the pain. “I’m trying to keep her comfortable, but she’s losing too much blood. She’ll go into shock.”

“But she’s lucky the arrow missed her heart,” Edmund reassured him. “And Lucy can still heal her with her magic cordial.”

“I know.” Peter forced himself to relax his jaw, which he’d been gritting the entire ride. “But she has to be alive for the cordial to work. If we just moved the group faster-”

“She’s not the only wounded person we have,” Edmund interjected sharply. “Trumpkin’s in a worse condition, and the rest of the army’s dead tired. We can’t speed up the group just for Julia.”

Peter closed his eyes, inwardly berating himself.

“I know. And I need to stay with the rest of the group because they need me.”

He didn’t need to look to know that his brother was nodding. Selfless Edmund. He always knew what monarchs should do, and he stuck to it. Sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – Peter wished that the heavy responsibilities of being high king burdened someone else. Julia had always made those burdens seem a little less oppressive, as if he was merely a carefree young man instead of the ruler of the world’s most powerful and prosperous kingdom. Yet it was one of these very burdens that kept him from saving her life.

* * *

 

**Narnian Forest**

**Outside of Aslan's How**

Tempestra felt like she was trying to claw herself out of the dense layers of fog that clouded her mind. They pressed down on her, suffocating her, but the moment she regained consciousness, she instantly wished that she hadn’t; her left shoulder was a mass of flaming agony and her body felt dangerously weak. Though the pain faded and Lucy’s magic cordial healed her body in a brief moment, it felt like eternity until she could get it under control and open her eyes.

The first thing she saw was the early morning sky, which was overcast with dull clouds that cast a gray muted light on the area. A chilly pre-dawn breeze swept across her, making her shiver, and she was suddenly, unexpectedly filled with a cold deadness that settled around her heart as she remembered the night’s devastating events. Asterius. Flynn. The massive number of Narnians who had been trapped in the courtyard.

She wondered if she had witnessed her first massacre.

Peter and Lucy were kneeling on either side of her as Edmund and Susan hovered around her feet worriedly. The moment Tempestra opened her eyes and inhaled deeply, the four of them let out a sigh of relief and drew back to give her some space. Lucy was the first to rise, and after giving Tempestra a small smile, she moved away with Edmund to treat the other wounded. Susan got to her feet as well and left as Peter helped Tempestra to sit up. His eyes were rimmed red, and Tempestra distantly speculated who he had been crying for.

“Julia-” Peter started to say, before his voice caught. “I’m so- Thank you. For taking the arrow for me. If anything had happened to you-”

Tempestra looked away.

“I knew the Narnians needed you too much for you to die,” she replied matter-of-factly, her voice flat. At this, the young man’s face fell. “Anyway,” she added, grimacing at the state of her clothes, “We should get inside before the Telmarines regroup and get here.” Without any kind of detergent, she doubted that the blood would wash out. And one glance down at her now-healed wound confirmed that she would always have a scar. Lovely.

Peter was still watching her dejectedly, silenced by her reaction to him. Ignoring him, Tempestra looked around at the Narnians who had stayed outside to help the wounded and cry for the dead. Grief was still a cold stone that burned in her chest, and she forced away the rising anguish as her eyes swept over the cold, gray surroundings. So much for the triumphant siege. So much for victory and an end to the war. For all that they had sacrificed and fought for, they were rewarded only with death and disappointment.

What was she doing here?

She stumbled to her feet, Peter awkwardly trying to give her a helping hand. As she straightened, she spotted Caspian storming into the How, Nikabrik close on his heels. The prince’s face was as stormy as the sky above them, and his hand was clenched on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

“What’s up with him?” Tempestra asked offhandedly.

Peter glanced over, and his face became mulish.

“He blames me, and maybe you, for the siege,” he said shortly. His eyes swept over the surviving Narnians, who avoided his gaze. “He was the one who ruined everything, and he blames us for why it went wrong.”

Tempestra closed her eyes. But all she could see was Asterius collapsing to the ground, his body crammed with arrows and crushed under the weight of the iron gate. He had sacrificed himself to save other Narnian lives. He hadn’t deserved to die. He should’ve been there, with them, walking back to the Howe. And Flynn-

“He was supposed to open the gate-” Peter was still talking, and the young woman felt a rush of irritation “-but he confronted Miraz himself. Susan and I had everything under control, and Caspian let Miraz get away. We barely opened the gate in time.”

“Why didn’t you call it off?”

The high king turned his head to stare incredulously at Tempestra, who had opened her eyes and was looking directly at him.

“Sorry?”

“Why didn’t you call it off?” she repeated. Her voice sounded strange, even to her, but something hot and mean was rising in her and the words were tumbling out before she could stop them. She felt like a dragon breathing fire. “You could’ve called for a retreat,” Tempestra continued. “We could’ve all gotten out.”

Peter was still staring at her, and it was as if something had closed behind his eyes. But then Tempestra remembered the Narnians climbing the closed gate and being struck from behind by arrows – arrows that had almost killed her – and she looked away, at the treetops at the edge of the forest. The branches swayed peacefully in the wind, unbent and unbroken by the turmoil on either side of the forest.

“You agree with Caspian.” Peter’s voice was low and hard. “After everything we – after everything that’s happened, you’re siding with him.”

Tempestra gave him a disgusted look.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Peter reached out a hand – to apologize, to seize and shake her, she didn’t know – but she evaded his touch and struck back towards the Howe. The pain in her left shoulder had receded to a dull ache and the blaze in her chest had subsided to a simmering burn, but one thought repeated itself over and over in her mind:

She had almost sacrificed her life for a boy who had made a terrible, terrible mistake.


End file.
